#or my proofs for algorithms

[ryanthel0ser]

I am now believing that Vincent just wrote all of his calculus notes on a wall in the basement for reference because he too was frustrated flipping through his notes like I am

[bubbloquacious]

How do you guys like this very convoluted proof of the Pythagorean theorem I just made

[bronzesbabe]

sonny having a 6.9 rating on fotmob is criminal lol my boy misplaced only 3 passes, had 7 recoveries, carried that backline the entire game, had some good drives forward and such a strong and calm build up play

[galaxymagitech]

Proof by "I coded it"

[faunandfloraas]

Trivia fact about me is I actually know those underwear changbin was sent by lee know very well bc for a significant portion of 2021 I continually got ads for men's frilly jockstraps/underwear and those were certainly included in many of those ads. See:

[sideblogtointeract]

that essay genuinely changed the way i viewed stan as a charcter in the most positive way possible im in awe at the amount of media literacy you have

*taps on the blog title* well it does say "sideblog to interact" so I better interact hadn't I?

[letteredlettered]

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[sudoscience]

I don't remember if I've posted about this before (if I have, I couldn't find the post), but I've been wondering lately why I keep getting notifications from blogs that don't follow me on posts I didn't make. I thought it was a glitch at first, but I think maybe it's just coming from the For You Page? I don't know when they changed this (I only check the FYP when my dash is really slow), but it shows reblogs now, and not just original posts. Plus, I know [tumblr] is making the FYP the default for new users now. That's gotta be where these strangers are coming from. I guess I'm in their orbits or something.

[bouquetofrosys]

I'm sorry youtube, but I assure you this is not "popular music."

[damneddamsy]

FALLING. RATING Explicit (18+ only) PAIRING Joel Miller x BIPOC OFC (Leela) FORMAT & SETTING Joel's POV & Post-TLOU Jackson AU WORD COUNT PER CHAPTER approx. 12,000+ STATUS Complete

SUMMARY It is said that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future. Now, Joel Miller wasn’t looking to be a saint. Trust was a liability. Love, a memory too painful to keep. But if a sinner like him still had some future, and if that future starts with one night—a baby’s relentless cries cracking through his walls and breaking him open—then maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t lost everything yet. Against all instincts, he steps into that big, white house across his street. Nothing drives Joel to linger, but he does. For the baby at first—nascent Maya, with her bright eyes and fistfuls of Joel’s collar. Then, the strange new mother. What begins as an uneasy coexistence grows into something deeper, which neither of them dares name. Haunted by a narrative she never chose, brilliant but reclusive, Leela’s mind runs into the theoretical—proofs, patterns, chasing solutions to an unsolvable equation—while Joel’s hands are scarred by the practical: protecting, killing, enduring. When that peace becomes fleeting, when a fragile hope in the shape of a mathematical discovery begins to bloom, and the world, as always, threatens to take it away, Joel confronts what it means to fall—not just into the impossible, but into love, into hope, into the fragile rhythms of Leela and Maya’s life, and their quiet home that becomes a rare thing in this decaying tomorrow: a reason to stay. This is a story of healing, found family, and the abnormal, slow math of love—how we factor grief, multiply hope, balance the unknowns, it never adds up but somehow makes perfect sense.

INDEX (might be subject to change as the story progresses.)

part i -> EVENT HORIZON

part ii -> MICROFRACTURE

part iii -> FALSE EQUILIBRIUM

part iv -> MINIMUM VIABLE HOPE

part v -> RECONSTRUCTION ALGORITHM

part vi -> LIMIT APPROACHES GRACE

part vii -> FREEFALL FUNCTION

part viii -> SOFT INFINITY

part ix -> STITCH THEORY

interlude

part x -> DECOHERENCE

part xi -> ZERO CROSSING

part xii -> THEOREM OF BECOMING

part xiii -> HEURISTIC BLOOM

part xiv -> THE FINAL INTEGRATION

epilogue

acknowledgements

FALLING MOODBOARD (a huge bear hug, thank you and shoutout to the incredible @jolapeno !!)

FALLING MOODBOARD (2) (so many kisses and so much love to the talented, sweet @mrsmando !!)

CHARACTER STUDY A deep dive into Joel, Maya, and Leela, answering an ask from one of my sweetheart friends @jodiswiftle who followed along!

AUTHOR'S NOTE Have loads of fun with this masterlist! took me a while to think up a different way to potray these chapters, I'm so glad it came through so great!

TAGS your (ultimate) fix-it fic, The Dad™️ Joel, softest Joel you've ever seen, he is also an old yearner cuntstruck hardass, Joel being down bad for a teeny baby girl, OFC is arabic, OFC being an academic nerd and STEM girlie, the cutest baby (Maya) ever, baby is an actual character, Miller family dynamics, Tommy-Joel-Ellie hooliganisms, life in Jackson town, Ellie being the generally awesome older sister, neighbours-to-lovers trope, found family, slowburn, a lot of math references, lotsa door metaphors, epistolary interlude.

CONTENT WARNINGS eventual smut (the whole kaboodle), big griefs, depression, unbearable angst, violence, gore, blood, alcoholism, substance abuse, post-natal depression, the pains of motherhood, mentions of rape and suicide, childbirth.

[kaiyunsim]

heartsync —

pairing : loser!jaehyun x gn!reader

summary : boring days lead you to download the stupidly popular ai matchmaking app, 'heartsync,' thinking that you would be matched with a bot. next thing you know, you have to maintain a dating score with this loser guy in order to avoid a hefty cancellation fee

warnings : fluff, slight angst, lowkey embarssing jaehyun, kinda fake dating,

a/n : i am addicted to losers. also writers block lwk hitting me so sorry if this isn't that good :(

— wc : 9.2k — not proof read —

notification !

tired of swiping and second-guessing? 🙄 let HeartSync™ match you based on more than just profiles. whether it’s fate or algorithms, HeartSync™ brings people together in unexpected ways. coffee shops ☕, grocery stores 🛒, or even your favorite songs 🎶. with personalized challenges 🎯 and quirky tasks 😏, it’s the app that makes you question what’s real… and what’s meant to be 💫.

ready to dive into a relationship that’s anything but ordinary? 😏 download now and let your heart sync ❤️‍🔥

you should’ve known something was up the second kazuha slid her phone across the table with a sly grin.

"you need this," she says, all too pleased with herself.

sungho leans in beside her, chin resting on his hand. "oh, absolutely. it’s the next big thing."

you glance down at the screen, unimpressed. "heartsync™? that sounds like a scam."

"it’s not," kazuha insists. "it's a revolution."

you narrow your eyes at her. "revolution is a strong word for a dating app."

sungho gestures wildly. "no, listen! this isn’t some basic swiping app. heartsync is, like, the future. ai-driven, hyper-accurate matchmaking." he wiggles his fingers in an attempt to look mysterious. "it scans all your online activity, text patterns, subconscious preferences—"

"wait, subconscious preferences?" you interrupt. "how the hell does it know what i subconsciously want?"

"science," kazuha says, as if that explains anything.

you stare at them, unimpressed. "so you’re telling me this thing invades my privacy, judges me, and then picks out some rando for me to date?"

"yep," sungho grins.

"hard pass."

kazhua sighs dramatically. "you’re so boring. come on, think about it. what if it actually works?"

"it won’t."

"but what if it does?"

you cross your arms. "i give it a week before i get matched with some weird middle-aged man who lives in his mom’s basement."

sungho gasps. "have a little faith, will you?!"

you snort, but kazuha suddenly looks too smug for your liking. before you can question it, your phone buzzes. you glance down.

"your friends are looking out for you! 💖 kazuha has sent you an invite to join heartsync™! experience true compatibility today. 💘"

you slowly raise your head. "zuha, did you just—"

"yep," she says.

"you—"

"it’s already downloading," sungho chimes in.

you look down at your phone in horror. sure enough, the app is installing.

"oh my god.”

jaehyun doesn’t even look up from his drink when taesan slides into the seat across from him, grinning like he’s about to be a menace.

"bro," taesan says, setting his phone down dramatically. "i found the solution to your dry-ass dating life."

jaehyun finally glances up. "i have a dating life."

woonhak, sitting beside him, lets out an exaggerated cough.

jaehyun glares. "shut up."

"he's not wrong," taesan snickers. "c’mon, look at this." he turns his phone around, revealing a sleek interface. jaehyun squints.

"heartsync?"

"ai-powered matchmaking, man. scientifically proven to find your perfect match."

jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "you sound like a bad infomercial."

woonhak leans in. "we already signed up. it’s, like, next-level tech. the app literally studies your habits, patterns, even your subconscious preferences."

jaehyun blinks. "that sounds illegal."

"nah, nah, just invasive," taesan says. "but in a good way."

jaehyun scoffs. "no such thing."

"just try it," woonhak says. "worst case, you get matched with someone weird and you ghost them."

"oh, so now i’m ghosting people?"

"what, like you don’t?" taesan smirks.

jaehyun rolls his eyes, but his phone suddenly buzzes.

"your best bros have your back! 💙 taesan has invited you to join heartsync™! what are you waiting for? your perfect match is waiting! 😉"

he looks up slowly. "you did not just—"

"i did," taesan grins.

woonhak claps him on the back. "welcome to the future, buddy."

jaehyun sighs. "you guys are the worst."

"and yet, here you are, downloading it," taesan singsongs.

jaehyun looks down at his phone. the app is downloading.

"...i hate you both."

setting up the app is way too easy. after a quick sign-up, a series of personality quizzes appear. you answer them halfheartedly, picking whatever feels right in the moment.

you expect a generic dating profile, but instead, a contract pops up.

"welcome to heartsync™'s exclusive perfect pair program! 💖 congratulations! by signing up, you agree to a 30-day trial relationship with your most compatible match. failure to complete the program will result in a penalty fee. please review the terms carefully. 📝"

you frown. "wait. penalty fee?"

kazhua leans over. "probably just a deterrent. no way they actually charge people."

"i don’t like this."

"it’s fine, just hit accept."

you squint at her, but against your better judgment, you press the button.

jaehyun does the same thing across town, equally suspicious.

then, both your phones buzz simultaneously.

"congratulations! 🎉 you’ve been matched! meet your perfect pair: myung jaehyun."

"congratulations! 🎉 you’ve been matched! meet your perfect pair: y/n."

jaehyun squints at his screen. "who the hell is y/n?"

you stare at yours. "who the hell is myung jaehyun?"

then, another notification.

"your first date has been scheduled! 🥰 see you at [reastaurant] tomorrow at 7 PM! remember: love is about commitment! 💞 failure to attend will result in a violation of your contract. 😘"

your stomach drops.

"...i think i just got scammed."

jaehyun, staring at the exact same message, mutters, "what the fuck?"

sungho and kazuha are dying.

"you’re stuck in a relationship for 30 days?!" sungho wheezes. "oh my god, i’m crying."

"this is the best thing that’s ever happened," kazuha says, wiping a fake tear.

you glare. "it’s not funny!"

"it’s hilarious," sungho corrects.

you groan. "this is the worst decision of my life."

kazhua gasps. "are you saying you regret trusting me?"

"yes."

"rude."

meanwhile, jaehyun is getting absolutely clowned on by his friends.

"so let me get this straight," taesan says, grinning like an idiot. "you’re contractually obligated to date this person?"

jaehyun rubs his temples. "apparently."

woonhak snickers. "bro. you’re trapped."

"i hate you both."

"nah," taesan says. "you love us. just like you’re about to love your new partner."

jaehyun looks up with dead eyes. "i hope the app malfunctions and matches you with each other."

woonhak gasps. "how dare you!"

"that would be so tragic," taesan grins. "imagine getting stuck in a relationship with woonhak."

woonhak shoves him. "shut up! i’d be a great boyfriend!"

jaehyun groans. "i cannot believe i let you guys talk me into this."

but before either of them can reply, his phone buzzes again.

"just a reminder! ❤️ your first date is TOMORROW at 7 PM! 💕 don’t keep your perfect match waiting! 😘 failure to attend will result in consequences. 🔥"

jaehyun stares at it.

"...i think i just signed my soul away."

you, staring at the exact same notification, sigh deeply.

what have you gotten yourself into?

...what?

you quickly scroll down. there’s a long wall of text in tiny font. definitely the terms and conditions you skimmed through without reading.

"effective immediately, you are required to actively participate in this relationship for the full 30-day duration. early termination will result in a penalty fee of—"

you freeze.

oh, hell no.

the penalty fee is HOW MUCH?!

"guys," you say, voice flat. "i think i just got scammed."

kazuh and sungho exchange glances. kazuha grabs your phone again and scrolls. her eyebrows shoot up. "holy shit. you’re stuck?"

"define stuck," you say, already dreading the answer.

sungho reads further. "...yep. stuck. you gotta go on dates, talk to this guy, and if you try to ignore him, the app gets passive-aggressive about it."

as if on cue, a new notification pops up.

"ghosting is unhealthy! say hi to your partner within the next 12 hours to maintain a positive relationship score. 💕"

you stare at the screen in horror.

kazuha and sungho? already laughing their asses off.

"this is the best thing that’s ever happened," sungho wheezes.

"no, no, this is cursed," you say, shaking your head. "there has to be a way out of this."

sungho grins. "you could pay the fee."

"i’m not paying that much just to escape some ai-manufactured relationship," you grumble.

kazuh, still laughing, pats your shoulder. "guess you’re dating myung jaehyun now."

somewhere else, jaehyun is also freaking out.

"taesan, what the hell did you make me sign up for?"

jaehyun stares at his phone like it just personally betrayed him.

"you got matched?" taesan asks, amused. he leans over jaehyun’s shoulder to check. "ohhh. wait. you actually got someone decent-looking. nice."

"not nice!" jaehyun exclaims, shoving his phone in taesan’s face. "look at this! it’s a contract. i have to date this person for 30 days or i have to pay an insane fee."

taesan reads for a second, then bursts out laughing. "holy shit. you’re trapped."

"why didn’t you tell me this could happen?!"

"because i didn’t think you’d actually get a match."

"what do i do?" jaehyun groans, scratching the back of his head.

"just go with it," taesan says. "it’s only a month. fake-date them, get some free meals, and worst-case scenario, you make a new friend."

jaehyun grumbles. "what if they suck?"

"what if you suck?"

"i mean, yeah, probably," jaehyun admits. "but still."

his phone buzzes.

"say hi to your partner within 12 hours to maintain a positive relationship score! 💕"

jaehyun stares blankly at the notification. then he looks at taesan.

"okay, but, like… do i get a refund if i cry?"

taesan cackles. "nope. no refunds, buddy. enjoy your new relationship."

jaehyun groans and flops onto the couch, phone balanced on his chest, already regretting everything.

you’re still convinced you’ve been scammed.

it’s not just the fact that you’re contractually obligated to go on this date, it’s the restaurant.

"how the hell did it know?" you mutter, staring at the notification again.

sungho leans over your shoulder, reading it for the tenth time. "i mean… it’s a little creepy."

"it’s very creepy," you correct. "i’ve never put this place in my location history, never mentioned it online, never even texted about it."

kazuha hums, sipping her drink. "maybe you thought about it too hard and the app just knew."

you look at her like she’s insane. "you’re telling me heartsync can read my mind now?"

"i mean, why not? it already owns your soul."

"not helping."

sungho suddenly perks up, squinting at the name on your screen. "wait. myung jaehyun?"

"yeah?"

he snaps his fingers. "oh! i had a class with him last year."

you blink. "and you’re only mentioning this now?"

sungho shrugs. "i forgot. but, uh…" he pauses. "he’s kinda a loser. in a cute way."

you stare at him. "define cute loser."

"like, y’know. a little awkward. kinda clumsy. but he’s not a bad guy."

kazuha raises an eyebrow. "so what i’m hearing is, you’ve already got an advantage."

"what advantage?" you ask flatly.

"you can be the cool one in this relationship," she says, smirking.

sungho grins. "oh yeah, you’ve already won."

you groan, sinking into your seat. "why am i even doing this?"

"because you’re legally bound by a contract," kazuha reminds you.

"right. love that for me."

jaehyun has the same problem.

"this is weird," he mutters, staring at his phone.

woonhak peeks over his shoulder. "dude, how did it know your favorite restaurant?"

"i don’t know."

"have you ever posted about it?" taesan asks.

"nope."

"checked in there?"

"never."

woonhak whistles. "yeah, that’s terrifying."

jaehyun groans. "why am i even going?"

taesan pats his shoulder. "because you’re legally bound by a contract."

jaehyun glares. "i hate you."

you arrive at the restaurant five minutes early, because despite your skepticism, you do respect punctuality.

what you don’t expect is to see someone already waiting at the entrance.

he's tall, a little awkward in the way he shifts on his feet, checking his phone. glasses slipping down his nose.

you approach cautiously. "...myung jaehyun?"

he looks up, blinking.

oh.

he’s kinda cute. in a loser-y way.

"oh," he says. "uh. hey."

you stare at each other for a beat.

jaehyun scratches the back of his neck. "so, uh… this is weird, right?"

"extremely."

he lets out a short laugh. "cool, just making sure."

you glance at the restaurant. "wanna get this over with?"

"yep."

you head inside together.

the weirdness doesn’t stop there.

you both open the menu, and your phones buzz at the same time.

"feeling indecisive? 💡 you both love the same dish! try the spicy seafood pasta! 🍝💖"

you slowly look up at jaehyun.

he looks back, expression unreadable.

"...so, uh," you start.

"are we just gonna ignore that?" he asks.

"we could."

jaehyun nods. "cool. because that was terrifying."

you both order the pasta anyway.

somewhere between the appetizer and the main course, the awkwardness starts to fade.

you’re still skeptical, but… conversation with jaehyun is weirdly easy.

he’s funny in an unintentional way. a little clumsy with his words, but quick to laugh at himself. it’s not what you expected.

"so," he says between bites, "are you, like, willingly doing this, or were you also tricked by your so-called friends?"

you groan. "tricked. sungho and kazuha set me up."

"ah," jaehyun nods. "taesan and woonhak did the same to me."

"so we’re both victims."

"basically."

you clink your glasses in mutual suffering.

then, another notification.

"running out of things to talk about? try reminiscing about your childhood talent show disaster! 😆✨"

you both freeze.

jaehyun slowly looks up. "...did your phone just say—?"

"yep," you cut in.

"what the hell?"

"no idea."

you stare at each other.

then jaehyun cautiously asks, "...did you actually have a childhood talent show disaster?"

you hesitate. "...maybe."

his eyes widen. "no way."

"look, it wasn’t that bad—"

"tell me everything."

you sigh, defeated. "i was seven, okay? i was supposed to sing. i got up there, forgot all the words, panicked, and ended up just dancing instead."

jaehyun claps. "improv! i respect that."

"bad improv," you correct.

"still, you committed. that’s what matters.”

and just like that, the skepticism eases.

then the app sends another notification.

"bonding over past failures? we love to see it! 😍💕 by the way, your partner thinks the nickname 'woonbaby' is hilarious. go ahead, try it! 😏"

you blink.

jaehyun reads his own notification.

then he looks at you, face slowly turning red.

"...what the fuck?"

you can’t help it. you laugh. "what the hell is woonbaby?"

jaehyun groans, covering his face. "it’s—it’s stupid. my friend woonhak. someone called him that once and it just stuck."

"oh my god," you grin. "you definitely still call him that."

"i do not," jaehyun lies.

you raise an eyebrow. "so if you text him right now and ask, he won’t confirm?"

jaehyun opens his mouth, then closes it.

"...no comment."

you cackle.

"oh my god," jaehyun mutters, slumping in his seat. "i hate this app."

"i love this app," you say gleefully.

by the time the bill arrives, you have to admit something.

this was not a disaster.

you’re still weirded out by the app’s accuracy. it’s unsettling how well it seems to know you both.

but jaehyun?

...he’s not so bad.

"so," he says as you both step outside, hands in pockets. "same time next week?"

you blink. "what?"

he holds up his phone.

"congrats! 🎉 your next date is scheduled for next friday! love takes consistency! 💖 ditching is not an option. 😉"

you groan. "again?"

"yep."

"...fine."

jaehyun grins. "see you then, partner."

you shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile forming.

what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

—

you’re in the middle of something important when your phone buzzes.

"surprise! 🎉 we’ve scheduled a spontaneous date night for you and jaehyun! quality time is crucial for growing relationships! 💕 see you at 7PM! 😘"

you stare at the screen.

then you glance at the time.

6:20PM.

"are you kidding me?" you say aloud.

sungho and kazuha look up from where they’re sprawled across your couch, watching a drama. "what?" kazuha asks.

"this stupid app just scheduled a date."

"wait, i thought your next one wasn’t until friday," sungho says.

"it was," you emphasize. "now it’s tonight. at seven."

sungho winces. "oh, that’s rough."

kazuha squints. "can’t you just cancel?"

you shake your head and turn your screen to them.

"cancelling is NOT an option! 🫵😤 love takes EFFORT! 💖"

kazuha snorts. "damn. that app is really holding you hostage."

you sigh. "i hate this."

sungho shrugs. "on the bright side, at least jaehyun is fun to mess with."

you scowl, but you don’t argue.

jaehyun is having an equally miserable time.

"you have got to be kidding me," he groans.

taesan and woonhak glance up from where they’re messing around on the studio couch. "what?" woonhak asks.

jaehyun turns his phone to them.

taesan squints. "another date? bro, you just had one."

"i know," jaehyun says, exasperated. "i have work to do!"

"just reschedule," woonhak suggests.

jaehyun gives him a deadpan look and flips his phone back around.

"cancelling is NOT an option! 🫵😤 love takes EFFORT! 💖"

woonhak bursts out laughing. "nah, this is hilarious."

"i hate this app," jaehyun mutters.

"okay, but like," taesan leans forward, "where are you even supposed to take them? don’t you have to finish your demo?"

jaehyun groans, rubbing his face. "yeah. i do."

he stares at his screen for a second, then sighs. "i guess they’re just coming here."

woonhak and taesan exchange glances.

"bold," woonhak comments.

"risky," taesan adds.

jaehyun throws a notebook at them.

you’re about five seconds away from ghosting when your phone buzzes.

myung jaehyun: uh. slight change of plans myung jaehyun: i’m stuck in the studio bc i have work to finish myung jaehyun: so if you’re cool with it, you can just come here?

you stare at the message.

then you sigh.

you: send me the address

a moment later, it comes through.

you grab your things and head out, still half-annoyed, half-curious about what you’re walking into.

jaehyun’s studio is tucked away in a quieter part of the city, the kind of place you’d probably never stumble upon unless you were looking for it.

the building itself is older, but inside, it’s got that warm, slightly chaotic energy of a space that’s lived in.

post-it notes are stuck to random surfaces. half-full water bottles clutter the desks. a worn couch sits against the wall, surrounded by tangled cables and spare equipment.

jaehyun is hunched over the desk, headphones around his neck, messy hair even messier than usual. he spins in his chair when you walk in, eyes slightly wide.

"oh. hey."

"hey," you say, glancing around. "so this is where the magic happens?"

"uh," jaehyun scratches the back of his neck, "something like that."

you step further inside, taking in the mix of instruments, wires, and open project files on the screen.

"you work here alone?"

"nah," jaehyun gestures vaguely. "woonhak and taesan share this space with me, but they’re not here right now."

"cool."

an awkward pause.

jaehyun clears his throat. "so, uh… i do have to work, but you can hang out? there’s snacks in that cabinet, and the couch is—"

you flop onto the couch before he can finish his sentence.

jaehyun blinks. "—yeah. okay. make yourself at home."

you grin. "thanks, host."

jaehyun groans but turns back to his screen, muttering something about "stupid app forcing dates at the worst times."

you watch him for a moment as he scrolls through his project.

his sleeves are pushed up, revealing the faint ink stains on his fingers. his foot taps absently against the floor as he listens to the playback.

you close your eyes and let the soft hum of music fill the space.

time passes.

jaehyun works. you scroll through your phone, occasionally glancing up to watch him tweak something in his file.

it’s… oddly peaceful.

you get up and sit down at the desk next to him, he’s too immersed to acknowldge you.

despite the forced nature of this whole situation, there’s something nice about sitting in a space where someone is just doing what they love.

you start to relax.

and at some point, without even meaning to, you start to drift off.

jaehyun only notices when he turns around to say something and sees you slumped over the desk next to him, head resting on your arms.

he freezes.

stares.

panics.

oh shit oh shit oh shit.

you’re asleep.

here. in his studio.

jaehyun is hyperaware of everything. the quiet rise and fall of your breathing. the way your fingers are curled slightly, like you were mid-scroll before you passed out.

he has no idea what to do.

should he wake you up? would that be rude? but if he doesn’t, is that weirder?

he’s still spiraling when the door swings open.

"forgot my charger," taesan says, stepping inside. "also, i’m stealing your—"

he stops.

jaehyun can feel the moment taesan processes the scene in front of him.

then—

"holy shit."

jaehyun whips around. "shut up."

taesan grins. "no way. you’re actually—"

"shut. up."

taesan snickers. "oh, this is amazing."

jaehyun glares. "don’t. start."

but it’s too late. taesan is already pulling out his phone.

"bro," he whispers, cackling, "you’re literally watching them like they’re a rare bird species."

"i am not," jaehyun hisses.

"you so are. oh my god."

jaehyun is about to throw something when you shift slightly, letting out a soft sigh.

both of them freeze.

taesan vibrates with silent laughter.

jaehyun, who is now very much contemplating murder, snaps, "get your stupid charger and leave."

taesan holds his hands up in surrender, still grinning. "alright, alright. relax, lover boy."

jaehyun throws a notebook at him.

taesan leaves.

jaehyun exhales, running a hand through his hair.

he turns back to you.

you’re still asleep, breathing steady, face relaxed.

he sighs.

and despite himself, despite the utter embarrassment of this entire situation…

he can’t help the small, stupid smile that tugs at his lips.

this app is so dumb.

but maybe…

just maybe…

it’s onto something.

you wake up slowly, the kind of hazy drift between sleep and awareness where you don’t quite remember where you are.

there’s the soft hum of music. the faint scratch of a pen. the scent of something vaguely citrusy, mixed with the underlying warmth of a well-used space.

then—

"finally awake?"

you blink blearily. jaehyun is sitting at the desk, spinning a pen between his fingers, watching you with an amused expression.

reality clicks into place.

the studio. the forced date. you, falling asleep like an idiot.

you groan, rubbing your face. "how long was i out?"

jaehyun shrugs. "an hour? maybe more?"

you wince. "why didn’t you wake me up?"

"you looked comfortable," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you stare at him.

jaehyun stares back.

heat creeps up the back of your neck. you push it down and scowl instead. "so you just let me drool all over your desk?"

"you didn’t drool," jaehyun says. then, after a pause, "probably."

you groan again and stretch, the stiffness in your neck making you regret everything. "well, thanks for that. i guess."

jaehyun chuckles, spinning back to his screen. "anytime."

you roll your eyes but don’t fight the small smile threatening to form.

you end up staying.

it’s not like you planned to, but the vibe is easy, and jaehyun is… well.

he’s kind of nice to be around.

he works while you scroll through your phone, occasionally showing him something stupid that makes him snort. at one point, he grabs a bag of chips from a shelf and wordlessly hands it to you.

"what’s this for?" you ask.

"you skipped dinner."

you blink. "how do you know?"

jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "because i also skipped dinner, and i didn’t see you eat anything either."

…fair point.

you take the bag and mumble a thanks. jaehyun just shrugs like it’s no big deal.

somewhere between talking about absolutely nothing, watching him edit his project, and accidentally getting crumbs all over the desk, you start to forget that this whole thing was a forced date.

it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

it’s nearly midnight when you check your phone and realize how late it’s gotten.

"shit," you mutter.

jaehyun glances up. "huh?"

"i should probably go."

he blinks, like he just processed the time himself. "oh. right."

you stand, stretching again, then glance at him. "you gonna keep working?"

"for a bit," jaehyun says, rubbing his neck. "i’m almost done."

you nod, then hesitate.

you’re not sure why you hesitate.

but before you can overthink it, you blurt out, "this wasn’t that bad."

jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "wow. high praise."

"shut up," you say, rolling your eyes.

he grins. "but yeah. wasn’t that bad."

you huff, grabbing your things. "see you friday, loser."

"see you, drooler."

you flip him off as you walk out the door.

jaehyun just laughs.

as you head home, your phone buzzes.

"congrats! 🎉 you’ve just completed an unplanned date! we bet you had a GREAT time 😘💖 can’t wait for friday! 😍"

you stare at the notification.

then you scoff, shaking your head.

stupid app.

—

you just want your morning coffee.

that’s it. just a simple, peaceful start to your day before dealing with actual responsibilities.

but when you step into the coffee shop, your usual one, the one you’ve been going to for years, you freeze.

because sitting right there, hunched over his phone with slight dark circles under his eyes and a half-finished iced americano in front of him, is myung jaehyun.

he doesn’t notice you at first. he just stares blankly at his screen, blinking slow like a loading error. he’s so out of it that when the barista calls out his order, he doesn’t even react.

so, naturally, you decide to make his life harder.

"myung jaehyun," you say, loud enough for half the café to hear.

he flinches like you just smacked him.

"huh?!"

"your coffee," you deadpan, nodding towards the counter.

he follows your gaze, then blinks again. "oh. right."

you snort as he stumbles up to grab it, still looking half-asleep.

when he returns to his seat, you’re still standing there, arms crossed.

"what?" he mumbles.

"this is my coffee shop."

jaehyun squints at you. "…what?"

"i come here every morning," you say, pointing at the barista like they can somehow confirm this.

jaehyun shrugs. "cool. i came here because my app said it had ‘the best morning recharge.’"

you frown. "your app?"

"heartsync," he says, yawning. "you know. the app that ruined our lives?"

your stomach drops. "you’re kidding."

jaehyun pulls out his phone and flashes the notification at you. sure enough.

"rise and shine! 🌞 grab your perfect morning pick-me-up at caffeine fix! ☕✨"

your jaw clenches. you also got a similar notification this morning.

slowly, your eyes meet. "okay," you say. "this is weird."

jaehyun hums, sipping his coffee. "yeah. but whatever. i needed caffeine."

you stare at him, offended. "so you’re just accepting this?"

"i mean, if the app is forcing me to get good coffee, i won’t complain," he says, completely unserious.

you hate that he’s taking this so lightly. you hate that he doesn’t even seem surprised.

you snatch his coffee and take a sip.

"hey!" jaehyun protests.

you smack it back down on the table. "that’s for being weirdly okay with this."

he just glares at you, rubbing his temples. "i just woke up. can you at least let me suffer in peace?"

you sigh, pulling out a chair. "fine. but i’m sitting here now. just to make sure you don’t pass out or something."

jaehyun looks at you, surprised. then he grins. "aww. you care."

you grab a sugar packet and chuck it at his forehead.

after that, you make a decision.

you’re not going to see jaehyun for a while.

not because you mind him. he’s fine. whatever. but because there’s something unnerving about the way this stupid app is leading you to each other like rats in some kind of romantic lab experiment.

so the next morning, you take a different route to work.

and by "different," you mean you add twenty minutes to your commute just to be safe.

you’re feeling pretty good about yourself until you stop by a grocery store later that evening—

and jaehyun is right there, staring at a shelf of instant ramen like it personally betrayed him.

you freeze. he looks up.

silence.

"are you kidding me?" you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

jaehyun just stares at you. "you’re the one who just walked in."

"yeah, but i specifically avoided my usual route just to make sure this wouldn’t happen," you argue.

"okay, well, i was just trying to get food," he says, exasperated. "i ran out of ramen."

you narrow your eyes. "don’t tell me your app told you to come here."

he hesitates.

then he holds up his phone.

"craving a late-night snack? 🤤🍜 don’t worry, we got you! swing by mart express—you never know who you might run into! 😉"

you want to throw something.

instead, you march up to him, grab his phone, and put it on airplane mode.

jaehyun blinks. "…what are you doing."

"fixing our problem," you say, pulling out your own phone and doing the same.

jaehyun stares at you for a moment. then, to your surprise, he actually nods. "okay," he says. "good plan."

you blink. "wait. you’re not gonna fight me on this?"

he shrugs. "nah. the app is getting creepy."

you fold your arms. "so you do think it’s weird?"

"i always thought it was weird," jaehyun says. "i just don’t care as much as you do."

you glare at him, but he’s already turning back to the ramen shelf like this whole conversation didn’t just happen.

unbelievable.

you leave the store together, mostly because your places are in the same general direction.

except five minutes in, jaehyun suddenly stops walking.

"shit," he mutters.

"what?" you ask.

he sighs. "i don’t know how to get home."

you stare at him. "you what."

"i always use my phone for directions!" he says, waving his arms. "but i turned it off, and now i’m lost."

you pinch the bridge of your nose. "you’re unbelievable."

"hey, you told me to turn it off!"

"because we were being manipulated!"

"well, congrats, now i’m gonna die on the street because of you."

"oh my god," you groan. "just—fine. where do you live?"

jaehyun tells you the address. you stare at him.

"jaehyun," you say. "that’s literally ten minutes from my place."

jaehyun blinks. "…oh."

you squint at him. "have you been taking the long way home this entire time?"

he scratches his head. "maybe?"

you don’t know whether to laugh or hit him.

instead, you just sigh and grab his wrist.

"come on," you say, dragging him in the right direction. "i’ll walk you."

jaehyun doesn’t protest.

but when you glance at him, he’s smiling.

you get him home without issue.

when you stop in front of his building, jaehyun turns to you.

"thanks," he says, rubbing his neck. "and, uh. good job fighting the system, i guess."

you snort. "yeah. whatever."

he grins, but there’s something softer in it this time.

"see you around?" he asks.

you hesitate.

then you sigh. "probably."

jaehyun laughs. "probably."

you don’t check your phone again until you’re home.

when you do, you have one new notification.

"aw, how sweet! 🥰 you make such a great team! 💕"

you groan, rolling your eyes. the off the grid mode didn’t work.

“so,” sungho says, dragging out the word like he’s about to be annoying.

you look up from your phone, raising an eyebrow. “so?”

sungho smirks. “how’s myung jaehyun?”

you blink. “why are you asking like that?”

“oh, no reason,” he says, very unconvincingly. “you just seem to see him a lot.”

you scoff. “that’s because this stupid app won’t leave us alone.”

“mhm.”

“it literally forced us to meet up.”

“sure.”

you glare at him. “i don’t like him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

sungho just hums. “never said you did.”

you hate him.

“anyway,” you say, aggressively changing the subject. “when are you free? let’s get dinner or something.”

sungho shrugs. “ask jaehyun. you seem to hang out with him more than me these days.”

you chuck a pillow at his face.

on jaehyun’s end, taesan is just as bad.

“so, you and your soulmate have been seeing each other a lot.”

jaehyun groans. “don’t call them that.”

“why not? isn’t that what the app says?” taesan teases.

jaehyun sighs, tilting his head back against the couch. “we don’t even take it seriously.”

“and yet you still see them outside of what the app says.”

“it just happens,” jaehyun defends.

“right.”

jaehyun doesn’t even bother arguing. it’s taesan. nothing he says will change his mind once he starts being annoying.

instead, he just mutters, “i don’t even like them like that.”

taesan snorts. “yeah. okay.”

jaehyun scowls at him. “i don’t.”

taesan grins. “never said you did.”

jaehyun glares at him.

taesan only laughs.

but the truth is—

neither of you mind seeing each other.

the notification hits your phone at the worst possible time, mid-bite into a sandwich, your mouth too full to properly react as you stare at the bolded text on the screen.

💖 heartsync™ challenge: surprise your match with a meaningful gift! don’t forget! thoughtfulness is key! 🎁

you narrow your eyes. a meaningful gift?

sungho, sitting across from you, glances at your phone and snorts. “oh, this is good. what are you gonna get him?”

you finish chewing before deadpanning, “a rock.”

sungho almost chokes on his drink.

jaehyun gets the same notification while lying on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. he barely processes it at first, but then—

a meaningful gift.

he groans, rubbing his face. "why is this starting to feel like a real relationship?"

“because it is a real relationship,” taesan says from his desk, not looking up from his laptop.

“it’s not,” jaehyun argues immediately.

“sure,” taesan replies, unconvinced.

jaehyun sighs. “what even counts as meaningful?”

taesan finally looks at him, unimpressed. “you’re the one dating them.”

“fake dating,” jaehyun corrects.

“sure,” taesan repeats.

jaehyun groans again.

you decide to put some effort into it.

not because you care or anything, but because you know jaehyun will definitely try, and you don’t want to look like an asshole in comparison.

you wander through a store, scanning the shelves for something that could count as thoughtful.

jaehyun gives off dog energy, doesn’t he?

you frown. that’s weird to think about. but it’s true. he’s clumsy, a little dumb, but weirdly endearing.

then, you spot it.

a plush keychain. a little golden retriever with floppy ears and big, round eyes.

you hesitate before picking it up.

it’s stupid. but it’s also… kind of perfect.

you buy it before you can second-guess yourself.

jaehyun, meanwhile, is just as lost.

he walks through a store with woonhak, who has been absolutely no help.

“why don’t you just get them a candle?” woonhak suggests.

jaehyun sighs. “that’s not meaningful.”

“depends on the scent.”

“woonhak.”

“fine.” woonhak gestures vaguely. “what do they even like?”

jaehyun pauses.

he… actually knows quite a bit. their favorite color, the snacks they always buy, the way they take their coffee—

he stops. when did he start noticing so much?

woonhak stares at him. “dude, you’re so gone.”

jaehyun immediately shakes his head. “shut up.”

but he grabs something off the shelf anyway, a small coffee cup for the coffee addict that is you.

just because it makes sense. not because he cares.

you agree to meet at the studio.

it’s not that weird, jaehyun spends most of his time there anyway, and you’ve been there before.

when you walk in, however, you’re met with the sight of woonhak sitting at the desk, staring intensely at his laptop screen.

you blink. “you’re here?”

woonhak looks up. “you’re here?”

“uh. yeah?”

jaehyun walks in behind you, closing the door. “we’re doing that stupid challenge.”

woonhak frowns. “what challenge?”

you smirk. “the one that made him tell me about woonbaby.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“YOU TOLD THEM?!” woonhak exclaims, turning to jaehyun with betrayal in his eyes.

jaehyun looks genuinely alarmed. “IT WASN’T MY FAULT! THE APP TOLD THEM.”

woonhak glares. “i don’t care! you let it happen.”

you watch, amused, as they bicker.

eventually, jaehyun gives up with an exasperated sigh. “whatever, let’s just do this.”

you sit down, pulling out the little plush keychain.

jaehyun stares at it.

“what?” you say.

he blinks. “…is that a dog?”

you nod. “it reminded me of you.”

woonhak howls with laughter.

jaehyun scowls. “what does that mean?”

you shrug. “you figure it out.”

woonhak is practically crying. “bro, you’re literally a golden retriever.”

jaehyun grumbles, but you catch the way he turns the keychain over in his hands, quietly pressing at the plush fabric.

then, he clears his throat, pulling out his own gift.

a simple and cute coffee cup, one you can reuse for your favorite coffee shop.

you pause.

you recognize this brand. it’s the one you always buy from.

“…how did you know i like these?” you ask.

jaehyun hesitates. “you mentioned it once.”

you stare at him. that was days ago.

woonhak, clearly sensing something, slowly scoots away.

“uh,” he mutters, “i’ll leave you guys to it.”

he exits the room.

leaving you alone with jaehyun.

you turn back to him, suddenly unsure what to say.

he shifts in his seat. “so. we did the challenge.”

you nod. “yeah.”

there’s a silence.

“…i actually really like this,” jaehyun admits, still holding the plush keychain.

you blink. the silence is loud.

he glances at you, a little sheepish. “i know you probably just picked it because it’s funny, but… i like it.”

you feel something unfamiliar stir in your chest.

“…i like mine too,” you say.

he looks up, a little surprised.

you clear your throat. “it’s thoughtful.”

a small smile tugs at his lips.

“good,” he says.

later that night, you add the keychain to your bag.

and jaehyun clips his onto his.

not that it means anything.

—

💖 heartsync challenge: write a letter to your partner about what this experience meant to you. be honest! no holding back! 💌

you stare at your phone.

your stomach turns.

this is different from the other challenges. those were fun, stupid, even. buying a gift? easy. going on a last-minute date? frustrating but manageable.

but this?

you put your phone down and ignore it.

jaehyun, on the other hand, groans dramatically and flops onto his bed.

taesan and woonhak glance at each other.

“what now?” taesan asks.

jaehyun lifts his phone, showing them the notification.

woonhak snorts. “damn. that’s deep.”

“yeah,” jaehyun mutters. “stupid app.”

taesan raises a brow. “you’re actually gonna do it?”

jaehyun pauses. “...it’s just a challenge.”

woonhak smirks. “uh-huh.”

jaehyun rolls onto his stomach, hiding his face.

taesan leans back in his chair. “so… what has this experience meant to you?”

jaehyun groans into his pillow.

woonhak cackles. “this is hilarious.”

jaehyun throws a pillow at him.

you don’t write the letter.

you could.

but you don’t.

because writing it down makes it real. and you don’t want to think about what this actually means.

so, you pretend it doesn’t exist.

the app can’t force you, right?

right.

jaehyun stares at the blank page in front of him.

just write something dumb and get it over with.

but when he tries to start, nothing feels right.

so, he sighs, taps his pen against the desk, and just… writes what comes naturally.

woonhak picks up the folded letter before jaehyun can stop him.

jaehyun nearly tackles him.

“GIVE IT BACK.”

woonhak dances out of reach, grinning. “ooooh, what’s this?”

“IT’S NOTHING.”

taesan, completely unbothered, takes a sip of his drink. “so you did write one.”

jaehyun glares. “it’s just a stupid challenge.”

woonhak dodges another grab. “damn, you really poured your heart into this, huh?”

jaehyun huffs. “i hate both of you.”

woonhak finally tosses it back, laughing.

jaehyun stuffs it into his bag, scowling.

“…so when are you giving it to them?” taesan asks.

jaehyun freezes.

“uh.”

“…you are giving it to them, right?” woonhak says, amused.

jaehyun looks away. “i don’t know.”

“…bro.”

“i just—” jaehyun sighs. “what if they don’t care?”

woonhak and taesan exchange a look.

then, woonhak shrugs. “i guess you’ll find out.”

you don’t ask if jaehyun wrote his letter.

you don’t want to know.

because if he did, then you’d have to think about why you didn’t.

when jaehyun sees you next, he almost gives it to you.

almost.

but then he sees the way you act like nothing is different.

so, he keeps it in his bag.

not that it matters.

—

💖 heartsync update: your 30-day trial is almost over! it’s time for your final compatibility assessment!

will you renew? yes or no? make your choice carefully! 😘

your thumb hovers over the screen.

your chest feels tight.

final compatibility assessment.

it’s just a stupid button. just a choice.

but it feels heavier than that.

yes or no. stay or leave.

do you want this to continue?

and that’s the problem, isn’t it?

because you do. but you also don’t.

or rather, you can’t.

if you say yes, what does that mean? that the app was right? that this was real? that you’re willing to risk whatever this has become?

that’s too much.

that’s terrifying.

so, instead of thinking, instead of wondering, instead of feeling—

you press no.

and just like that, it’s over.

jaehyun gets the notification when he’s halfway to the café.

he’d planned to meet you there, casually slipping you the letter like it wasn’t a big deal. but then—

💔 heartsync update: your trial has ended. thanks for participating! your match has chosen not to renew. we’ve removed them from your contacts. no hard feelings! 💕

he stops walking.

stares at the screen.

his stomach sinks.

his heart—

no renewal.

he scrolls through his messages, but your contact is gone. every conversation, every stupid joke, every awkward late-night text—erased.

like you were never there at all.

like he imagined it.

like it meant nothing.

he swallows.

turns on his heel.

walks away.

when you check your phone again, it’s like jaehyun never existed.

your chat history? gone.

your notifications? empty.

you type his name into your contacts. nothing.

it feels like a punch to the stomach. you should’ve expected this. you did expect this.

but it still hurts.

did he pick no, too?

…or did you delete something that he actually wanted?

you close your phone.

this is for the best.

you keep telling yourself that. so why doesn’t it feel true?

jaehyun stares at the letter in his hands.

it’s stupid.

he shouldn’t care.

but he does. and that pisses him off.

woonhak notices. “what’s up with you?”

jaehyun doesn’t answer.

taesan glances over. “hey. you good?”

jaehyun laughs, but it’s hollow. “yeah.”

woonhak raises a brow.

jaehyun crumples the letter in his fist.

“i just wasted my time, that’s all.”

he gets up.

leaves before they can ask anything else.

you tell sungho and kazuha that it’s fine.

that you’re fine.

sungho doesn’t buy it. “so, you just… ended it?”

you shrug. “it was gonna end anyway.”

kazuha frowns. “but… did you want it to?”

you open your mouth. hesitate.

sungho sighs. “you’re an idiot.”

you glare. “thanks.”

“i’m serious. if you actually liked him—”

“i don’t.”

“…right,” kazuha says, unconvinced.

sungho crosses his arms. “you know, he could’ve said yes.”

you look away.

because that thought is the worst one of all.

jaehyun avoids the café.

he avoids the places he might see you.

he pretends it doesn’t sting.

but when he’s alone, when the studio is quiet, when there’s nothing left to distract him.

he pulls out the letter.

the one you’ll never read.

and he wonders if he had given it to you, would it have made a difference?

—

jaehyun is not the kind of guy who does this.

he’s not the type to chase after people. he doesn’t do big confrontations. he doesn’t throw himself into situations where his feelings are laid bare, where rejection is a very real possibility.

but here he is.

sitting in a café across from woonhak, gripping a coffee cup like it’s a lifeline, his foot tapping against the floor so fast it’s a miracle the ground isn’t shaking.

woonhak, for his part, is staring at him like he’s experiencing secondhand embarrassment in real time.

“so… let me get this straight,” woonhak says, setting his drink down. “you got matched with someone on a dating app. spent a whole month with them. actually liked them. and now, instead of talking to them like a normal person, you’re here, asking me to help you find them?”

jaehyun scowls. “when you say it like that, it sounds weird.”

woonhak leans back in his chair. “because it is weird.”

jaehyun groans, running a hand through his hair. “i just—” he hesitates, voice quieter. “they pressed no.”

woonhak’s eyebrows lift.

jaehyun clenches his jaw. “they chose to end it.”

woonhak watches him for a moment. then, slowly, he folds his arms.

“so? that’s it? you’re just gonna let the app decide how this ends?”

jaehyun exhales sharply. “no.”

“good.” woonhak cracks his knuckles. “let’s find them.”

jaehyun blinks. “wait, you’re actually helping?”

woonhak smirks. “are you kidding? this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.”

jaehyun rolls his eyes, but his heart is beating a little faster now.

step one: figure out where you work.

woonhak, surprisingly, is really good at this. almost too good.

“didn’t you mention that sungho is their friend?” he asks, scrolling through his phone.

jaehyun blinks. “uh. yeah?”

woonhak hums. “i think i saw something on his page last week. something about dropping off lunch at their job.”

jaehyun leans over. “you can find that?”

“duh. i have skills.”

jaehyun doesn’t question it.

a few minutes later, woonhak tilts his screen toward jaehyun. “bingo. looks like they work at that bookstore near the subway station.”

jaehyun’s stomach twists.

this is actually happening.

woonhak smirks. “you ready?”

jaehyun doesn’t answer. just grabs his jacket and walks out the door.

the bookstore is quiet when jaehyun steps inside.

the warm scent of paper and ink fills the air. soft lighting casts golden hues against the wooden bookshelves. the faint sound of pages turning and the occasional murmur of conversation drifts through the space.

he scans the store, heart hammering.

there.

you’re stacking books near the back, moving with the easy rhythm of someone who’s done this a hundred times.

jaehyun’s feet move before he can think.

you don’t notice him at first.

but then you glance up.

your hands still. your eyes widen.

“…jaehyun?”

his throat is dry. he almost forgets why he’s here.

almost.

“you really didn’t care, huh?”

your expression falters. “what?”

jaehyun exhales sharply. “you didn’t even hesitate. you just—” he gestures vaguely, frustration bleeding into his voice. “you pressed no.”

you swallow. “i—”

jaehyun reaches into his pocket.

pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.

your breath catches.

“you didn’t read mine,” jaehyun says.

his voice is quieter now. rough around the edges.

you stare at the letter.

the ink is smudged. the paper is creased, worn like he’s been holding onto it for days.

like he was going to give it to you, like he wanted to stay.

your stomach twists.

“jaehyun.”

he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “i just don’t get it.”

his voice cracks on the last word.

you don’t know what to say. you don’t know how to fix this.

but maybe… maybe it’s not too late.

silence stretches between you.

you don’t look away from the letter.

jaehyun doesn’t either.

there’s a tension in the air, thick and heavy. you try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t go away.

finally, jaehyun exhales.

he shoves a hand into his jacket pocket, gaze dropping to the floor. “you don’t have to say anything,” he mutters. “i just—i needed you to know.”

your throat is tight. your fingers twitch at your sides.

you didn’t read mine.

he said it so simply, like it wasn’t the most painful realization of all. because you should have.

you should have waited.

you should have listened.

but you were afraid.

afraid that reading it would mean accepting something real. afraid that pressing yes would mean opening yourself up to something you weren’t sure you could handle.

but now, looking at him, his tense shoulders, his furrowed brows, the way his hands grip the letter like it’s the only thing holding him together. he’s so cute.

you wonder if you made the wrong choice.

you take a shaky breath. “jaehyun…”

he lifts his gaze.

your fingers brush against the edge of the letter. hesitating.

you take it.

jaehyun stills.

you smooth it out carefully, trying not to focus on the places where the ink has bled.

you glance up. “can i—?”

jaehyun nods, once.

so you read.

jaehyun’s letter is messy.

his handwriting is uneven, like he kept pausing, rewriting, second-guessing.

but the words—

the words hit you like a punch to the chest.

it’s not poetic. not perfectly structured.

but it’s real.

and for some reason, that makes it hurt even more.

hey. i don’t really know what to say, which is probably a bad start to a letter. i don’t know what i was expecting when i signed up for this. definitely not this. i thought it’d be a joke. just something dumb i’d try and then delete. but then, somehow, it was you. and i don’t know how that happened, but i’m not really mad about it. it was weird at first. and sometimes it still is. but somewhere along the way, i stopped thinking about it like an “experiment” or a “trial.” it just became normal. i don’t know if that means anything. but i think i like this. i think i like… you. not that it matters. but yeah. that’s it. - jaehyun.

you can tell when he started to get frustrated. some sentences trail off, like he wasn’t sure how to end them. some are underlined, like he wanted to make sure you understood.

but the part that makes your breath catch, the part that makes your fingers tighten around the page—

is near the end.

"i don’t know if that means anything. but i think i like this. i think i like… you."

you stare at the words.

your hands shake.

your vision blurs.

you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to look up.

jaehyun is watching you, expression unreadable.

you open your mouth. but no words come out.

so you do the only thing you can.

you fold the letter carefully. tuck it into your pocket.

and whisper, “i think i made a mistake.”

jaehyun exhales.

his lips press into a thin line.

“yeah,” he says softly. “i think so, too.”

it should be easier than this.

it should be simple. if you like someone, you tell them. if you want to stay, you stay.

but it’s never that easy, is it?

because standing here, in the quiet of the bookstore, with jaehyun staring at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, it feels impossible to say what you want to say.

your heart is in your throat.

your fingers tighten around the crumpled letter in your pocket.

“so,” jaehyun says, voice quiet. “what now?”

you don’t know.

but you do know one thing:

you don’t want to walk away again.

you meet his gaze.

hesitate.

“i think i liked you before i even realized.”

jaehyun’s breath catches.

your chest feels tight.

you swallow, forcing yourself to keep going.

“i just… i didn’t want to admit it,” you say, voice softer now. “because if i did, then it wouldn’t be because of the app. it wouldn’t be because of some stupid algorithm. it would just be me.”

you take a shaky breath.

“and that scared me.”

jaehyun exhales sharply.

he’s quiet for a long moment, and just when you think he’s going to say something,

he takes a step closer.

then another.

your heart stutters.

he stops just a few inches away.

when he speaks, his voice is steadier than before.

“i don’t care what the app says,” he murmurs.

his gaze is unwavering.

“i like you.”

your stomach flips.

your fingers twitch at your sides.

you want to say something.

but before you can, jaehyun suddenly exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“god, that was so embarrassing,” he groans. “i can’t believe i actually said that out loud.”

you blink.

a laugh bursts out of you, unexpected and unfiltered.

jaehyun groans again, covering his face. “no, don’t laugh. i was trying to be cool.”

“cool?” you wheeze. “you?”

he glares at you from between his fingers. “i take it back. i don’t like you.”

you grin. “too late.”

jaehyun groans dramatically, but there’s no real frustration in it.

just warmth. just relief.

and when your laughter fades, when the bookstore falls quiet again—

he looks at you. and you look back.

something shifts.

something settles.

and just like that—

it doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.

later, at a coffee shop.

“so,” you say, stirring your drink. “was any of it real?”

jaehyun blinks. “huh?”

“the app,” you clarify. “the ‘fated’ moments. was any of it real?”

jaehyun thinks about it.

“well.” he tilts his head. “the coffee shop thing was definitely on purpose.”

you nod. “and the grocery store?”

“i think you just have bad luck.”

“excuse me?”

jaehyun shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “i mean, statistically speaking, you were bound to run into me eventually.”

you narrow your eyes. “statistically speaking, i should throw my drink at you.”

jaehyun grins. “you could. but then you’d have to buy me another one.”

you stare at him for a long moment.

then you sigh, leaning back in your chair.

“so… no magic algorithm,” you murmur.

“no magic algorithm,” jaehyun agrees.

it’s strange.

you spent so much time wondering if any of it was real, if the app had manipulated you, if the connection was artificial, if your feelings were manufactured.

but now, sitting here, watching jaehyun poke at the ice in his drink with his straw, you realize something.

you don’t care.

because maybe the app pushed you together. maybe it forced you into situations that you wouldn’t have chosen otherwise.

but the moments you shared?

the conversations, the laughter, the quiet nights at the studio—

that was real. and that’s enough.

and that's something you like the sound of.

—

tysm for reading :>

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

[bumblebeehug]

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og team natsu is so funny because every single one of them thinks they're the Normal One™ in the group. when in reality all five of them are insane just in wildly different ways.

[amara-gaelthorne]

Witchcraft Doesn’t Owe You Proof

Not everything sacred needs to be converted into data or monetized into results. Fantasy isn’t “lesser.” Symbolism doesn’t have to justify itself to capitalism. Internal experiences are valid experiences. And imagination? It is a power. It doesn’t need a paycheck, a testimonial, or a TikTok manifestation glow-up to matter.

Witchcraft—at its core—is liminal. It lives in the in-between, in dreams, in play, in the mythic, in the symbolic. Yes, it can be practical and results-based. But it also can be deeply indulgent, internal, aesthetic, irrational, beautifully useless in the utilitarian sense. That’s not weakness. That’s art. That’s freedom.

The Burden of Legitimization

When witches today feel the need to constantly prove that their craft works in the "real world"—it’s a form of protective posturing. Centuries of persecution, accusations, and erasure led to an underlying anxiety: “If I don’t produce, they’ll call me a fraud. If I don’t fix something, they’ll call me evil. If I indulge in fantasy, they’ll call me insane.”

That anxiety is real. It’s collective trauma. But bending to it doesn’t liberate anyone. It just hands your practice over to the same structures that once condemned it.

You Know What’s Revolutionary?

Saying: “My witchcraft isn’t for you.” “My fantasy isn’t meant to fix the world.” “My symbols don’t need to be literal to be real or meaningful or useful to me.” “This practice is sacred because I feel it, not because it ‘works’ on reality.”

That is radical honesty. That is witchcraft with backbone. And that’s where I'm standing.

But Not Me. Not Us.

I’m a black-garbed warlock with a demon wolf at my side. I have skeletons and sigils and a pendulum that doesn’t need to predict anything to feel sacred. I make charms not for productivity, but for companionship. I speak to spirits, not to control them, but to coexist.

This isn’t about usefulness. This isn’t about outcomes. This is about presence. Power. Permission to imagine. Because that, more than any dollar or spell, is what the world fears:

A woman who doesn’t need to explain her inner world to anyone.

To Those Still in the Shadows:

If you’ve ever felt that your magic was “not enough” because it was too symbolic, too dark, too strange, too aesthetic, too rooted in fantasy— Let me say this with fire:

You do not owe this world results. Your path does not require proof. Your magic is not a pitch deck.

You are not broken for indulging in something that doesn’t “serve a purpose.” You are not immature for finding love in the mythical. You are not failing if your witchcraft doesn’t fix the world’s wounds.

Sometimes witchcraft is not about fixing. It’s about feeling. It’s about facing. It’s about fcking existing as you are, wild and untamed and unquantifiable.

My Magic Is Not For Sale

So to the algorithms, the moral panics, the critics, the capitalist covens, the skeptics, the sanitized influencers, and every fake “demonologist” who ever tried to leash the strange:

You don’t belong in my pit. My witchcraft will remain indulgent. Symbolic. Unapologetically dark. Unmeasurable. And mine.

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𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Part 1

“you and me alone in the dark, forever i stay, with you”

summary : after having a drug fueled revelation on his life, Thanos decided to create a private account. For weeks, this account was his sanctuary where he could “unplug” from the normalities of his life of partying. With no one to watch him, no one to make fun of what his interests were, he posted snippets of his daily life and created an algorithm that suited his secret interests. And one day, he had stumbled upon you.

tw : taking drugs, pinning, not proof read, reader knows little Korean

words : 5.7k

notes : this is a longer version of my drabble. In this specific AU (without the games), I wrote Thanos as someone who longs for a bond and needs someone to understand him on a deeper level. This maybe out of character juuuust a tad from him in the games, but this is what I feel like he would be as Choi Subong rather than Thanos.

“I tried this shit a while back and it’s wild, bro.”

Nam-Gyu sits cross legged on the floor before his friend, an outstretched hand pedestals two little colorful tablets in his palm. Thanos eyes widen, lips curling downward as he shifts over his tailbone.

“Don’t give me that shit,” the black haired man pushed the other playfully, “trust me, I wouldn’t give you this if I didn’t already know what it felt like. It was eye-opening, bro.”

Thanos shakes his head, “I don't know bro, I’ve never taken something like that before.”

Nam-Gyu clicks his tongue, “just trust me. I’m taking it with you.” His eyes shift to look at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “It's similar to shrooms,” he muses, “Plus, I’m a good trip guide. I won’t let you do any crazy shit.”

Thanos stares at the colorful tablets laid before him, contemplating if this was a good idea. It’s not like he hasn’t tried this stuff before, or worse, but this was newer on the market and Nam-Gyu’s past of harder drugs doesn’t set his mind at ease.

“For real, you won’t end up in the street naked or anything. When I tried this a few months back, it literally saved me, bro. It was like, like uh, like I saw all the beauty in the world…” He paused sheepishly before adding, “or some shit.”

Nam-Gyu smiles, “look, I don’t do hard shit anymore, you know this.”

Which was true, Thanos thought. They’ve tried almost everything under the sun when it came to experimenting when they first met, with the exception of needles when it came to Thanos. When it came to trying newer drugs, Su-bong was extra cautious about them being laced. But, his friend is trying it with him, and he’s done it before… what could go wrong?

”This was the same batch you tried before?”

”Yeah, I saved these last two for just us.”

”I take just one?”

”Just one.”

The purple haired man takes a tablet with confidence and pops it in his mouth.

“Now let it dissolve over your tongue,” Nam-Gyu follows his friend by taking the tablet, which eases the other.

“How long will it take?” Thanos lets out a breath, sinking his back to the floor. His friend follows suit, flopping his body to the floor beside him to stare at the ceiling in Thanos’s high rise apartment.

“Won’t be long, bro. Just enjoy the ride.”

The lights in the apartment were already dim. The faint glow of purple LED lights and the twinkle of the night sky of Seoul made a soft atmosphere. The high was gradual but overwhelmingly apparent. Thanos’s body flooded with an initial rush of adrenaline, causing his body to buzz. Time felt all-being, fast as light but slow as molasses, and his body was just an anomaly between it all.

The emotions inside his mind bursted at the seams, exploding with undescribable love and admiration for life. The fleeting thought deep within his mind made him realize that he’s never truly felt appreciative of life before, but he chose to ignore it. How could he ignore the overwhelming excitement for living? This is beautiful. His friend was beautiful, his apartment was beautiful, these lights were mesmerizing.

He stared at Seoul’s skyline for what felt like hours, completely entranced in the way they sparkled. Neon lights flashing on billboards, the barely-there stars peeking through the city’s light pollution. Maybe one day he’ll see the night sky for real and count every star up there. How come he had never realized how beautiful the city was? The people in the street enjoying food, groups sticking together on a night out, a couple hugging each other in an intimate moment and forgetting the world around them.

He wanted to find love like this. Could this feeling be love? Is this what it felt like to appreciate everything he had been through? He had never felt this love with another human being before, but he can remember the last time he had felt love.

When he was a child, he loved to create. This mostly came through rapping and making music, but he also adored creating through drawing and painting. He loved to dance, he loved to express himself in any way possible through a form of art.

Maybe he had lacked this as he got older. With tough times and life experiences, he began to revert inside himself. In school, he got in with the wrong crowd, tried drugs and got hooked at a young age. He became rebellious, ultimately becoming the leader of the pack. He still created music, though, but it was the only mask he had. Rapping got him exclusive invitations to more popular crowds. He had spiraled and partied regularly before it became a lifestyle.

A new girl every night and waking up with regret, on a vicious cycle of drugs and alcohol, partying way past sunrise and waking up just when the sun began to set.

Was he proud of it? He’s lived this life for too long to remember, so he couldn’t tell.

Did he even have his own conscious? Did his lifestyle dull his senses to what really matters? He can’t tell.

All he could feel was right now, this moment in the lick of time. And time was fleeting.

-

Choi Su-bong woke up the next night alone on his couch. He blinked, once, twice before reaching for his phone on the floor beside him. Cringing at the bright screen and scrolling through notifications, Nam-Gyu had left a text a few hours ago.

남규 🙈 (4:14 pm) : I left earlier to make an appointment. I checked on u before i left to make sure ur alive lol i also locked the door. Txt me when you wake

Sighing and rolling on his back, Su-bong sent a response to notify that he was okay before switching apps.

Instagram was his first choice, per usual, and he was immediately flooded with his fellow idols and influencer ‘friends’' posts. Flashy cars, luxurious dinners, lavish outfits that cost hundreds of dollars… it was always the same. He swallowed, noticing his mouth withered before discarding his phone once again over the fur carpet.

It was Friday night, the start to a weekend, where he would usually get up to shower and head out to the high scale clubs to meet with friends. But tonight he only hopped in the shower to cleanse himself and threw on a hoodie and sweats, because he cringed at the thought of doing anything else.

Sitting alone on his plush couch, tv faintly glowing in the back, he racked his brain on his experience from yesterday. It’s actually surprising that he didn’t feel the effects still. It must have been a short term high.

Though short term, it had lasting effects on his system. His thought process tonight was completely different from normal. No doom scrolling, waking up craving immediate numbness or even hungover. Maybe it was time for a wake up call, and this was what he needed. And to think that he was hesitant at first to take them.

He was tired of the surface level relationships and everything that came with that. His entire adult life had been a blur, a ticking time bomb with fleeting memories. Sure, times were fun, but waking up each day feeling like his body got pummeled by a train wasn’t…fun.

He missed art. He missed making music that came from his heart. He missed creating. Not this senselessness that made him fit in.

Pulling out his phone, Su-bong’s slender fingers tapped along the screen.

Create a new account

The blue letters stared back at him, and he was eager to press. Pursing his lips, he contemplates a new name. And why was thinking of anything original so hard right now? It felt like a ghostly pressure, but this was his first choice he’s consciously made in years. Was it really that hard?

He lets out an airy laugh, “shibal.”

Pattering his colorful fingernails along the screen, he came up with Mystic_Legend.

Was it original to his persona? No. But he liked it that way. It was a little ode to himself, but honoring his attachment.

He kept the profile blank for now, not opting to add a profile picture.

This was a clean slate. The explore page filled with vacation pictures of palm trees next to private pools, someone cooking a healthy meal for their family, a few memes - but what caught his attention was a beautiful art piece hung along a blank wall.

What he could perceive as a skinless torso without the flesh, unmasked and slimy twisting up like a tornado. Brilliant hues of blue and dusty grey explode through the top like a cloud exploding and expanding. Thanos was mesmerized by the painting. He’d never seen anything like this before.

His whole body stalled as his eyes scan every detail of the picture for a while. His mind races with thoughts of what could this be? What was the artist interpreting?

But maybe it wasn’t up for interpretation, maybe it was to feel.

What he felt was a tainted soul blossoming into something new.

This was a deep connection, a coincidence to a new path of life.

A beginning.

-

Su-bong spent less time on social media in the following weeks. From what used to be entertaining fans through comments, responding to DM’s, collaborating with other big artists and liking videos of his appearances and shows to spending most of his time on his burner account.

He had grown an algorithm catered to interests long forgotten and had followed things that genuinely interested him. From thousands of followers to zero, from following a few hundred to 13. It was refreshing, to Su-bong. Something he had needed.

No followers didn’t stop him from posting his daily routine. It was rather fun, actually. Posting things that he was doing without having thousands of people watching his every move. It felt more invigorating to post things that were out of his online persona.

An americano from the cafe down the street, his weights at the gym, his record collection, his at-home studio setup, a new pair of shoes he just bought, a colorful sunset from his apartment, a video of him filming the Han River as he went on a run.

He found a new love in posting things that caught his eye, a new love for things he didn’t really see before.

Nam-Gyu was always around, too. Like usual, he’d stop by the apartment to share a drink or smoke a blunt. The two would watch movies and order take out every few days, leaving Nam-Gyu to pass out on the couch for the night. The bond they shared was always special in regards to the fakeness of the crowd Thanos hung around, so it was natural and comfortable keeping him close.

Though, he’d never share the burner account. That was solely his.

Thanos would still keep a presence online through his main account, but not as much. Fans would ask if things were okay on his posts, but he never responded to those. He did his tasks led by management and kept his social life relatively strong to cause any other suspicion.

However, he did loosen the reins on making appearances. In a span of 2 weeks, he didn’t show up to any night clubs or perform at any shows, much to his managers' dislike. However, he continued to make music, music like he’s never created before.

His new routine would be spending hours in his guest bedroom/home studio making music from his soul. Raps about love and heartbreak, about a life he feels like he’d never lived. Raps about living vicariously through movies, how he longs for companionship but can’t seem to allow himself. Raw emotions would flow, allowing himself to set in a new territory of his mind and heart.

It was like therapy. Years of burden lifted off his shoulder poured into his music. Sometimes angry and intense, spitting painful memories and emotions through the mic - and others loving and soft, thoughtful for genuine affection.

Choi Su-bong felt at ease for the first time since he was a child.

Nestled in his king bed, damp hair draping over his brow, he scrolled through his explore page.

A beautiful face he had scrolled past.

Scrolling back up, he tapped on your picture with lightning speed.

A simple photo, but unremarkable. You posed in a simple dress that accentuated your body modestly, holding the phone up to take a selfie in a park.

Officially 1 month in Seoul!

Seoul? You’re here?

Swiping to your profile, he noticed that you didn’t have much. With only following barely over a hundred people and less than 40 followers, you were an anomaly.

You didn’t even have a caption, just a simple text heart emoji under your name.

Your profile had only 12 photos and 2 of which were you. The rest had been photos of your adventures. A photo of a record store, good food you had tried here in Korea, and pictures of landscapes.

Thanos eagerly tapped on the second photo of you.

You were in bed, phone angled high to capture your beauty with flash, holding a plush animal.

I rewarded myself with a friend today

Su-bong swelled, grinning to himself. The plushie you had looked soft, tuffs of its fur touching your cheek as you smiled sweetly back at him. Scrolling down, he found your first post of an airplane illuminated under airport lights.

Today, I start fresh. I’m nervous. #movingtokorea

Checking the date, you had posted this 2 months ago. You must have moved here recently and are living in the same city as him.

Running slender fingers through his hair, Su-Bong considered interacting with you or not. He had scrolled up to see your face at least a dozen times, practically stalking your entire page. Unable to control his emotions, Thanos buzzed with adrenaline.

He’s made the first move countless of times, but not in a… specific way like this. He never had a problem getting the girl he desired for the night, and he never had to try hard at that. This was a completely different situation.

He didn’t want that type of relationship with you. He felt it reverberating deep within his bones. He wanted more than that. Looking through the screen into your eyes marked him in a way he could never describe in words. It was a pulling, a chain that linked and locked with a click deep in his soul.

One message couldn’t hurt? Right? You didn’t even know who he was, or what society had written about him. You didn’t know his past, his current or even his name.

Would it be weird sending you a message? He doesn’t think he could even cope with being left on read by you.

This was fate, this was more than limerence - it was affinity.

-

You sigh, plopping yourself over your couch and covering yourself with a blanket.

Your apartment was small and barren. It was nothing to look at, but it was home. Little trinkets line your bookshelf in the corner of your living room glow under the tv’s light. Scrolling through your apps, you select a comfort show from your childhood and unwind.

Starting a new life in Seoul wasn’t on your bingo card a year ago, but you had made the rash decision for a job with decent pay. You had never left home, so why not take an adventure to see if you could do it? The best part of all of this was that you always had the decision to move back, or move somewhere else completely.

It was beginning to feel like home, though. It was the perfect amount of space you needed and the environment was a perfect mix of introverted activities and extroverted. You had the freedom to become a hermit, but also had the option to go out if you so please. You lived in a part of the city where you could walk to work, dine and drink down the street. You also lived in an area close to bars if you ever felt the need to socialize.

It was beginning to feel like home after 2 months. Your job was easy to follow, despite you not being an expert in Korean. The people were nice, though they were curious and stared. You stuck out like a sore thumb with your demeanor, but you were becoming accustomed quickly, better than you thought you would.

You should be going out tonight, but you don’t feel ready yet. You should be getting dolled up to enjoy a night of fun, but… this was fun for now. Cuddled up in your cozy apartment after a long week at work.

The tv muffled in the background as you stared out your window, appreciating the skyline.

Your phone buzzes against your tight, drawing you from your thoughts.

Mystic_Legend wants to send you a message

Your brow furrows at the notification, but you’re anxious to see the message. You had little to no lies from your home country, and no one knew you here in Korea. Must be a bot.

Mystic_Legend (9:56 pm) : 나는 당신의 사진을 좋아합니다

You blink, staring at the message in curiosity. Pulling up google on your phone you translate the sentence.

I like your photo

“Weird,” you mumble.

Another instagram notification pops up on your screen and you tap it.

Mystic_Legend (9:57 pm) : 최근에 한국에 도착 했나요? 당신은 그것을 좋아합니까?

Have you arrived in Korea recently? Do you like it?

Uneasiness bubbles within your gut. Wasn’t your profile private? You tap around your screen to double check - and it wasn’t. Curiosity got the best of you and you tap the users profile.

20 posts, 13 following and… zero followers.

An anomaly.

Scrolling through the users posts, you find random things. A pair of new shoes, a video of a hooded figure with his back turned to the camera playing on a soundboard, a picture of the person’s outfit, hat covered with a beanie and phone conveniently covering his face in the mirror. Filtering through more posts, you find the Seoul skyline at night, a deck of cards littering a coffee table, gym equipment and landscape photos.

“What the,” you sigh under your breath before another notification pops over the top of your screen.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 pm) : I’m sorry. I should have written in English.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 pm) : I like your photos. Did you recently move to Korea?

Your fingers hesitate before swiping across the screen to accept the messages.

You (10:02 pm) : Do I know you?

A typing bubble appears before disappearing for a few moments.

Mystic_Legend (10:03 pm) : No, I found you on explore page

Ahh, it clicked. But you won’t tell a stranger sensitive information, the whole situation is weird in the first place. You were hesitant to even respond, leaving the message on read while you stared at the screen.

Mystic_Legend (10:04 pm) : I’m Su-bong. Not a creep, I promise.

You (10:04 pm) : Nice to meet you. Thank you for liking my pictures.

Keeping it short and sweet, you lock your phone, hoping to leave the conversation at that, but your phone vibrates not once, but twice.

Mystic_Legend has followed you

Mystic_Legend (10:06 pm) : I could help you speak Korean, if you don’t know

You contemplate the message, looking at it on your Home Screen. You could use the help with your job and navigating the city. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You could have a native speaker help and just keep it at that. Just for the knowledge, of course. Keep it surface level.

You (10:07 pm) : That helps me, actually.

Mystic_Legend (10:07 pm) : Cool. 😎

Mystic_Legend (10:07 pm) : Maybe we could call?

You (10:08 pm) : Not tonight, it’s pretty late.

Mystic_Legend (10:09 pm) : That is okay, get your rest. We can speak tomorrow?

You (10:10 pm) : Sure.

Seen 10:10pm

You left it at that, and the stranger does too. You get ready for bed shortly after that, confused as to how anyone would even find you on the explore page. You weren’t a big account at all and hardly interacted with content on the app, so what had led to the discovery of your profile?

You did have similar interests, but that couldn’t be the only reason for him to message you.

Before closing your eyes, you tap the instagram application and go to the strangers profile and press follow.

-

It caused Su-bong physical pain to let you go to bed. He wanted to message you more, all night if he could. But you had agreed to a call tomorrow, and he was reeling with adrenaline.

Scanning over your photos in his darkened room overlooking the city lights, he couldn’t keep his gaze off the picture of you in the park. Turning over to lay on his side, a strangeness swells within his chest. It must have been stupid, only a virgin could react so strongly just by pictures and dry messages.

But something had told him this was everything he had been missing. Not ever had he looked at a girl with such a sweetness. He’d hooked up with models, influencers and everything in between, although not remembering most of the nights. He’d share hot kisses with wet tongues in night clubs, inviting high class women to his place to experiment something new, had intense sex fueled by molly, and even bent women over in grimy bathrooms.

This was not new to him, picking up women and getting what he wanted.

But the purity was.

Something swam in your eyes, mesmerizing him in a daze. Something fueled him to keep pushing, to dig deeper as to where this stems from.

You are beautiful, elegant and ethereal actually.

He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t try.

The buzz of a notification almost sends his heart leaping out of his chest to find that you had followed him back.

-

You didn’t hear from the stranger, or Su-bong overnight. To your conflicting disappointment, he wasn’t in the pile of notifications when you woke.

Something pulled you in. Men now-a-days have a large following, or a large number of who they follow. You didn’t mull this over to its extent last night, but when you checked his following, it was all art, photography and music accounts… all 13 of them. He didn’t have a profile picture, but the same silhouette showed continuously through his posts.

He didn’t have any followers, and this led you to think this was a secret account. Maybe he had a girlfriend to hide… but honestly that wouldn’t make sense, because if he were to hide an account, wouldn’t he be following girls? At least one? But the only one was you.

And you were now his only follower.

It seemed like a simple account, purely made for enjoyment. Social media is used for that sort of thing anyways, right? You shake your head, reminding yourself that not every man is out to get you. Not every stranger is here to hurt you.

It’s not that big of a deal, and you shouldn’t even be bothering yourself with it.

So you opt to forget about it and carry on with your day.

Saturday - a day to catch up after the work week and do whatever you want to do. So, you do. You work out, shower and make your way to the little cafe down the street to catch a light breakfast and coffee.

Sitting down at an empty table near the window to people watch, your phone buzzes over the table.

Mystic_Legend (10:01 am) : Good morning

Bzzzzt

Mystic_Legend sent a photo

You practically leap from your seat to snatch your phone, a rush of adrenaline courses through your veins. You pray to god that this doesn’t go south, please for the love of god do not be an unsolicited dick pic.

Preparing yourself with a breath, you go to his message embarrassingly fast and tap on the photo.

You squint before opening, as if to allow yourself to be a victim of a terrible sight, but to your delight, the picture opened to a pair of pristine white sneakers next to some weights.

Mystic_Legend (10:03 am) : I am hitting the gym this morning. I hope you slept well.

You (10:04 am) : I beat you to it, I already worked out today. I am getting breakfast.

Sending a picture back can’t do any harm, right? Angling your phone over your food and coffee, you snap a picture and send it.

Mystic_Legend (10:06 am) : Looks good

Mystic_Legend (10:06 am) : What are your plans today?

Mystic_Legend (10:07 am) : I am excited to call, let me know when you are ready.

You purse your lips, blushing at the thought of having a phone call with a stranger. This was unhinged right? No one in their right mind would be doing this… right? Why did your heart flutter with every message he sent?

It’s literally a blank profile.

You tap on his account and scroll down to the photo of him in a mirror. The purple beanie covers his hair and the phone covers most of his face. The hoodie he wears is black with neon coloring and you can’t see past his waist. The one eye you do see, gives a glimpse, a sliver, that who you are talking to is a real person.

You (10:10 am) : I have to run errands today, but I will text you when I am home

The chat bubble lifts above the keyboard, then disappears. You await his response in silence.

Mystic_Legend (10:11 am) : I will wait for you.

An… odd message, you blink. Maybe even sweet… but you don’t know the customs and courtesies of Korean culture enough to have a real judgement. All you need to worry about is finishing your errands and chores before a phone call with a stranger.

-

Flicking the light to your apartment on and dumping your grocery bags on the counter, you stretch.

A day out was just what you needed, and the weather was perfect to walk around in, but damn do your feet ache. Slipping off your shoes by the door, you begin doing your final task of the day.

You barely put the egg carton in your fridge before you hear your phone buzz from the counter. Padding your feet over to your phone, sits another photo message from mystic_legend.

Tilting your head, you open the photo.

An outstretched hand gingerly caresses a wine glass halfway filled with a deep red in front of a kitchen counter.

Mystic_Legend (8:00 pm) : I hope you had a good day.

You (8:00 pm) : Sorry it is so late, I met up with a coworker for dinner.

You cringe at your apology, it’s not like he deserved one. But it was true. Your coworker saw you shopping at a local store and asked if you’d be down to have drinks and food. You couldn’t say no, especially since you have no friends. And this coworker is also a foreigner, so it works out in terms of no language barriers. But you did have plans to call with him, so maybe you felt the need to mention that?

You (8:01 pm) : Is that red wine?

Mystic_Legend (8:01 pm) : Yes. I like this one.

Mystic_Legend sent a photo

You open the photo to see an exquisite bottle of red with the label in French.

You (8:03 pm) : Looks expensive, are you rich?

Mystic_Legend (8:04 pm) : It was a gift.

You (8:05 pm) : I will call soon, I need to finish cleaning up and shower

Mystic_Legend hearted your message but said nothing else.

You freshen up after a long day, letting the hot water cascade down your back. Rubbing your shoulders to ease the tension, your mind wanders.

Was this a trick? Was he a creep? How could you be so naive in trusting a complete stranger? It was weird, what you were doing.

But in reality, you are lonely. Making this move was huge for you and your confidence. You’ve never ventured out like this before. You are a big girl, you don’t need to explain your reasons for making friends. You are completely on your own, working in a completely new country, and doing good at it.

You’re not tied down by anything but yourself, so why was it hard to accept the fact that this was a little unconventional?

You’ve tried dating apps in the past- you physically cringe forcing yourself to stop your thought process. Shrugging your shoulders against the water in a visceral reaction, you shake off the thought. This guy is not an interest, why were you thinking it was? Instagram is not an app to date.

Even so, he had never asked anything other than to talk to you. You’ve had guys in the past ask for nudes almost immediately. You’ve had guys thirsting over you in such an icky way that it completely turned you off.

But…

You lean your head back into the waterfall and puff your cheeks.

He hasn’t done that.

You couldn’t help by think of all the reason why. Why he had messaged. Was it a cover? He could be a complete fuck-boy underneath it all and he’s just grabbing your attention.

What if he isn’t even real. What if he’s some mama’s boy living in a dingy basement?

You groan, anticipation swelling deep in your belly. You feel like you might be sick at the thought of a measly voice call.

You can’t help that it excites you.

-

Silk pajamas caress your skin and the plush comforter of your bed warms your senses as you whip out your phone and settle yourself in a comfortable position.

Your finger lingers over the phone symbol next to the strangers name… and you can’t do it.

You (11:01 pm) : I’m ready

WIthin seconds, like he really was awaiting your message, your phone screen illuminates with a voice call.

Your body tenses at the mere sight and you suck in a breath, hitting accept.

“Hello?”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” he calls, his voice low and smooth like honey. You melt at the slow infliction of his tone.

“Oh- annyeong-“ You stutter, but he doesn’t react. “How are you?” You try to hold it together to keep your voice from shaking, praying that he doesn’t notice. Your poor Korean could be embarrassing to him.

“That was good,” he comments before proceeding, “I am good now. I told you I would wait for you.”

The more he spoke, the more you caught on to his thick accent. It wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t care, you understood him just fine.

You give an airy laugh, “you did.”

”What did you do today?”

You hum. “I worked out, went to lunch… I went shopping and met up with a coworker of mine for dinner. It was nice. What did you do today?”

He hums in response.

“One second-“ he says, followed by quick tapping on his screen. After a moment, he begins to speak again.

“I worked out too. I had chest day. Then I made music.”

“Music?”

“Yes,” he pauses, “I like to make music.”

”Is that why you post pictures of you in a studio?”

“Yes,” the tapping on his phone is rapid now, “I have my own studio in my house.”

”That’s so cool! I’d like to hear your music…”

The stranger was silent on the other line.

”Maybe.”

“Okay, well no pressure. I don’t like to show anyone my personal stuff either.” You opt to keep the conversation light.

He hums in agreement.

“Why did you come to Korea?”

You shift under your covers, thinking of a response.

“I… just needed a new start. I wanted to see what I could accomplish.” Is what you ended up with.

He hums again, slow and low, taking a moment to respond.

“I understand. I have lived here my entire life. I always wanted to travel, that is good that you did.”

You laugh, “it was scary at first, moving to a new country and all…”

”I could tell you all the best spots around here.”

”I’d like that, I’m still getting used to it.” You turn your head to look at the moon outside your window.

”Do you remember my name?” He questions.

”Su-Bong.” You respond quietly.

”Yes, I’d like to know yours.”

You swallow, internally battling yourself with how to respond. You don’t want to give him your real name in the means of safety. But he did give you his.

“Is that actually your name?”

“Of course, why would I lie?” His accent was thick and questioning, low in bass. It rang so nicely through your ears. His infliction doesn’t waver, and it draws you in.

You slowly said your own name, giving him the benefit of the doubt. It was just a name after all, and he had already known what you looked like.

He repeated your name quietly, like he savored it on his tongue. His deep voice electrified your nerves in a way you’ve never experienced, triggering your body to grow hot in embarrassment.

“Beautiful name,” was all he said.

You sheepishly give thanks before yawning.

“Are you tired?”

Your eyelids grow heavy to the sound of his voice. “I am.”

”I will let you go to sleep, can we talk tomorrow?”

You wait a moment to respond as your heart flutters in response to him.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

”Okay,” he whispers, “an nyeong hi ju mu se yo.”

”Goodnight, Su-Bong.”

-

Thanos hung up the phone almost too quickly, but not because he wanted to leave the conversation, but because he needed to let out a breath he had been holding.

Your voice was sweet and calming. It had lulled his system like waves of the ocean.

Running his fingers through his hair his eyes dart around the room and curses under his breath.

You’d definitely be the death of him.

[vivalabunbun]

Into the Sky of Artificial Stars

Summary: Could a chest that lacks a heartbeat still learn how it would feel? Could the whir of a motor be enough of a substitute?

Word Count: 25k (I will not explain myself)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Slow burn (oh my), Slow fic (oh boy), SMUT(r18+), NSFW, Researcher!Reader, insomniac!Reader, Android!Alhaitham, Workaholic!Reader, soft!Alhaitham, Modern AU, Android AU, human x android dynamics, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Heavy adult themes, academic trauma, toxic family pressure, toxic academia themes, struggles of poverty and academic inequality, TW: Exploration of grief, death, and guilt, TW: Survivor's guilt and tragedy, exploration of humanity and morality, slight mentions of violence, service top!Alhaitham, test subject to lovers? slightly possessive!Alhaitham? body worship, touch starvation? cunnilingus, he falls hard like a fool, but what is there to catch a fool who tried to reach for an unobtainable star?

Authors Note: This has been in the drafts for a very long time. My first foray into sci-fi kinda? I did my best with jargon and everything, so please forgive any mistakes I've made in regard to the technical stuff. An exploration into an artificial star. Enjoy

Are you just your conscience? 

All the collective thoughts, desires, and ideals that congregate in your mind and influence your every action. Do your thoughts define you?

Are those cognitive functions, formed through a mix of instinct, teachings, and life experiences, what differentiates a man from a featherless biped?

If so, then are algorithms, simulations, and data sets interchangeable with what creates cognitive functions? Theoretically, it gives a machine the ability to develop a conscience. It gives a machine the ability to be human. 

Perhaps, a sterile lab won’t be the most fitting environment to form such a thing.

What if we clothe the machine, provide a roof over its head in a nice quiet house, and feed its mind with the mundane details of existence? Then, could technology bring a machine over the boundary of humanity? 

To engineer a brain, a conscience, a life with bare mortal hands. As if to replicate the gods. To compete with the authority of gods through scientific progression, many warn about the possible repercussions. 

However, if to give and take life is deemed sinful to be done by mortal hands, then what made those unseen gods any different?

Regardless, such philosophical ramblings won’t help you in finishing the half-written report in front of you. 

Looking past the two years' worth of reports sent already, innumerable papers penned by you within the sleep-deprived confines of the Akademiya. With a doctorate framed proudly on bland walls, that should be proof of your ability to type up a simple conclusion, right?

The weighted taps against a backspace key argue otherwise. Frustration leaves your lips in the form of a sigh as you test out a new string of words. Could these few sentences even be comprehensive of the leap in scientific progress made by mankind? 

The shapes of letters merge together, forming incomprehensible blotches of black pixels against the white backdrop. Quickly, your lids shut to offer your eyes some much-needed reprieve from the harsh light of the monitor.

It was quite naive of you to believe subjecting your weary eyes to the punishment of light mode would drive up productivity.

Your fingers remove themselves from the keyboard, perhaps your body’s stubborn protest against sitting at the desk for another minute. Maybe a coffee break is an order. 

You shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself, there hasn’t been a precedent for an experiment like this. A collaboration between the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan, the first of its kind.

Perhaps the real marvel is how the weight of their combined egos hasn’t sunk this project into the depths of abandonment. 

With a subtle squeak, your office chair rolls back granting you permission to stand up and stretch your weary limbs. Letting out a slight groan as signs of time made themselves known to your bones. The ramifications of your negligence. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely stride toward the kitchen. As you make your way to the end of the long, empty hallway a silvery hue steals your attention.

Slightly obscured by the oak door frame to your home library stood the culmination of your years of overtime and long nights. A surge of anticipation places a slight weightlessness on your legs.

Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

Structure much more nimble and organic than the gardemeks framework, with materials sourced from the finest suppliers. The most advanced software and artificial intelligence capabilities ever developed since the Akasha.

The first and only of his kind: The Android Alhaitham. 

The said pinnacle of human ingenuity and knowledge is currently flipping through a paperback book as the sunlight illuminates his synthetic skin.

The bounce light made his silver locks glimmer. As your steps slowed to a stop, he took notice of your presence. A soft snap of pages closing resounds through the passive air as Alhaitham turns his focus to you. 

Your gaze ran along the neat spines lining each shelf, a small stack of unsorted books still left by his feet, but this morning there were numerous identical piles littered all over the library.

He seems to not have any issues making progress on his assigned tasks, a great sign. 

You note that his button-down was a different color today, a sign that he’s practicing switching to a new set of clothes regularly.

A sign of routine, developing habits, and showing his steady learning of human behavior. 

The frustrations from an unfinished report fade into obscurity as the subject of your research continues to observe your form. How easy it is to forget the big picture when you stress over the small details.

With this gentle reminder, a soft curl tugs at the corners of your lips. 

Alhaitham repositions his stance, turning his body to face you, you figure he must be anticipating another task from you. Since he seems to be mostly done with his previous one, why not assign a new one?

“Could you brew me a cup of coffee, Alhaitham?” As he processes your request, you inspect his teal eyes, catching the slight glow signaling that his response is ready. 

“I could, but unfortunately the interval of opportunity has already passed.” His baritone voice articulates. 

A subtle quirk made its debut on your brows as your eyes shifted toward a clock hanging up in the corner of the study, its ticking hands displaying the time: 5:15 p.m. 

“Huh… you won’t grant me an extension?” You turn back to him. 

“If you have a request then please state it between my working hours of 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., you’re always free to submit again tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t budge. An android capable of autonomous training and self-study is different from those gardemeks who only function when given tasks. The ability to develop self-awareness, consciousness, and to think comes with its own caveats.

In Alhaitham’s case, his stubborn nature. Conceivably, he likely reviewed Sumeru’s labor laws and decided that he was entitled to such labor rights as well. 

“I work overtime almost every day for your research and development, but you can’t spare me 15 minutes?” Your lips form a pout, but you already predicted his next output. 

“Your poor work-life balance is not my responsibility.” 

Your prediction was correct. 

Another sigh leaves your lips, it’s just one of the trade-offs you must accept. After all, learning to be a human is the reason why he was created. A feat once thought to be unachievable. But he exists, and he’s developed quite a character. 

To change the trajectory of this conversation you glance at the book held within his hold. 

“Frankenstein by Mary Shelly?” You read the title aloud. 

“Yes, the 1831 edition, it’s quite the story.” Alhaitham opens the covers once more. 

“Mm, maybe I should be more cautious of what information you come across.” A subtle grin tugging at the corners of your lips as his teal eyes land back on you. 

“It’d be a bit of an issue if you were to turn against me from the wrong influences.” Resting your body against the oak doorway as you observe the android process your jest. 

“There are safety restrictions already in place to prevent such occurrences, the possibility is near zero. However, if you are still concerned then feel free to upload a list of banned materials for the next version update.” 

A huff of a chuckle escapes you as you shift more of your weight against the wooden frame. 

“Of course, of course, just remember to place your books back where you found them.” Pushing off the doorway, you allow Alhaitham to continue his unsupervised learning as you amble closer to the kitchen. 

The soft clinking of cups and spoons chime through the evening air as you scoop a few ounces of ground coffee into the brewer.

As the water slowly brings itself to a low rumble, you occupy your wait staring out the glass and at the setting sun. The flaming scarlet hues and warmth blend into mellow indigo as the night begins to reveal her stars. 

Dusk, when the line between day and night blurs to an indistinguishable mess. Would a singularity also look as luminous as the setting sun? The answer might be closer than ever before. 

The reaction to the announcement of an android development project was at first astonishment, that human knowledge had progressed this far. And the secondary reaction that followed like ripples was fear. Fear that humans will soon be replaced by beings of silicon and steel.

That a singularity would signal the end of humanity. 

Well, this was always the common reaction to disruptive change. Many cases of public pushback and hysteria against innovations you can reference throughout history. The human reaction to the unknown. 

They always gossip and fearmonger about an android domination of all of Teyvat. But have those people ever stopped to consider that the android could simply be too lazy to have such ambitions?

Instead of becoming cruel overlords, they’d rather leave books strewn about as they dock themselves into their charging port. 

To learn to be human means to learn human slothfulness too, no? Or maybe Alhaitham’s algorithm just decided to train himself to incorporate it. What a peculiar enigma he is, this android currently residing in your house. 

Your thoughts circle back to a certain novel you haven’t touched in years. A work of science fiction written by a genius author barely over the cusp of adulthood. 

You wonder how she would’ve described this impending singularity. 

A distant toll rang from the depths of a dreamless void, each chime reaching closer and closer until the bright tune devolved into jarring blares. Piercing enough to set your heavy lids into motion.

Just as they peeked open, they flinched back shut from a stray ray that snuck between the gaps of your curtains. 

Your leaden body groans at the brightness of the room, the luminosity much greater than when you had originally settled under the covers. Yet, even with your groggy complaints the alarm resting on the nightstand offered no mercy, continuously bellowing its monotone pitch. 

With a sharp slap, your world returns to its silence. 

Angling the alarm towards you as you creak open one eye, the blurry red pixels slowly merge together to display the time. 

Didn’t you have a meeting scheduled for today? 

Another groan follows your dreadful discovery and you roll back under the plush blanket. Not much different from a child trying to protect themselves from the grasp of a fictitious monster.  

Soft comforters block the morning glow contained behind thick curtains, yet your permission to access a blank serenity was denied. It seems that your quota for sleep has been fulfilled.

Barring you from any excess repose, not that you expected anything less. A monster that torments a young mind might be fictitious, but the realities of capitalistic responsibilities unfortunately aren’t.

Taking in a deep inhale, you prep your body for the next set of dreaded actions with its drowsy limbs. Before it had the chance to protest, you kicked the covers off, ripping away the warm security from your skin. 

Ambling down the hall you gradually made your way into the kitchen, there under the morning light sat a steadfast figure whose eyes never left the book in front of him. 

“Good Morning.” You initiate the first conversation of the day.

“Congratulations.” 

You pause, hand in the midst of rubbing away the tiredness of your eyes. Staring perplexingly at his sudden praise. Alhaitham’s focus remains on his novel even as he answers your unasked question.

“You’ve beat your previous record of how many alarms it takes to get you out of bed, I believe it went off five times this morning.” 

A few beats of uninterrupted silence follow the aftermath of his response. A chain broken by a deep sigh which leaves your body.

“It’s far too early for this, Alhaitham.” Your hand goes back into motion, this time attempting to rub away frustration.

��Spare me your sarcasm until after you’ve made me breakfast and a cup of coffee.” 

From the glance you took at your clock from earlier, it’s currently well into his operational hours.

“Understood.” Setting the book down, his tall frame makes its way into the kitchen. 

Settling down at the lacquered table, your seat grants you a clear view of your android collecting some eggs from the refrigerator. Even as the hands of fatigue beckon your lashes to flutter shut, you refuse to indulge in such luxuries.

You had to watch just in case he decided his book couldn’t wait.

A series of trials and errors already well documented in those weekly reports back to the Akademiya and Institution. A human in training is bound to have some mishaps occur, or more accurately, this android might have different priorities.

One notable case was the time you asked Alhaitham to clean the floors while you attended a conference call. Only to step into puddles of soapy water the moment you leave your office door.

Connecting eyes with teal as he stood in the middle of it all mop in hand. For the time being, you’ve barred him from such tasks. 

Although, you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a mess just as an excuse to sit back on the couch with a book. This fickle android of yours. Your third sigh of the day. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The tranquil afternoon interlude that enveloped the house was interrupted by a sharp chime. Glancing at the numbers displayed on the corner of your screen, it looks like it’s right on schedule.

You had just concluded your monthly conference call, it’d be good to stretch your legs a bit after sitting through a few hours of professional formalities. 

Leaving your home office to journey toward the front door, you spot Alhaitham’s frame by the entranceway. His head turns to acknowledge your presence. Passing him to make your way to the front door, you hear him shift closer.

Soon the brilliance of a star pours into the entranceway, illuminating the hall as the door opens.

“Good afternoon, grocery delivery?” The young man on the steps greets, a strain in his polite tone as bags weigh down on his arms. 

“Yes, there was a last-minute addition of henna berries, were you able to get those?”

“Yep, they’re in one of these bags.” 

“Thank you, sorry for the trouble, I’ll take it from here.” You cast a glance over your shoulders back at a tall form standing idly. 

“Please come help with the groceries.” 

“Understood.” It took only a few strides for the burden weighing down on the delivery boy, effortlessly hanging them all on his engineered arms without a hint of strain. 

“Careful, they’re heavy, mister-” The warning dies at the tip of the young man’s tongue as his wide eye reflects the artificial glow of teal irises. 

It’s best to end this trial now, to prevent a commotion or disturbing the delivery boy who isn’t paid enough to be frightened. You could see it in the slight tremble of his agape mouth as his brain processed the thing in front of him. 

“Thank you again, please don’t mind him, have a great day.” Before you could hear his response, the door was shut. 

A bit rude according to societal norms, but you’re sure a generous gratuity bonus paid on top of the delivery fee is enough to stifle any disgruntlement. Considering his reaction, it looks like your hypothesis remains correct.

The people of Teyvat still need more time to adjust to the existence of androids. Just because science progresses, it doesn’t mean human acknowledgment moves at the same rate.  

Turning away from the door, a pair of glass irises connect with yours, a sheen of expectancy just under the brilliant teal hue. Alhaitham stands there with the bags still hanging from his arms. 

“If you already know what I’m about to assign you, then you should just take the initiative, Alhaitham.” You huff. 

“It’s not a bad habit to wait for any specific instructions.” Came his baritone rebuttal.

“Just take those to the kitchen.” 

“Understood.” He pivots away, taking slow steps toward the kitchen. 

“Ah, sort them into the fridge and cupboards too, do not just dump them on the counter.” You warn, learning from your previous mistakes. 

Seriously, Alhaitham has long evolved past needing step-by-step detailed prompts, thus you suspect it's merely an act of his.

You’ve watched his character develop, his habits form, and his routine take shape. Just where did he learn such behavior? This strange android of yours. 

You watch as he carries the numerous bags without a hint of strain. Alhaitham was much better suited for carrying your week’s worth of rations from the market. Unfortunately, he is proprietary technology.

Clearance to allow an android out into the world hasn’t been granted yet. 

Not that you were eager to receive it. The logistics of such an event are a nightmare to plan. The protocols needed in emergencies to ensure the safety of civilians and the millions of mora poured into his creation. 

There’s always a nonzero chance his system gets overloaded from trying to analyze every blurred face in a crowd. A nonzero chance that he would simply wander beyond the merchants and their fruit stalls. A nonzero chance that the gem implanted between his collarbones could spark curiosity. 

Those same curious eyes could catch onto the artificial glow of teal irises, morphing curiosity into terror. 

Even in Fontaine where it was more common for machines to walk among crowds, they were always designed to look like machines. Their clockwork pieces are obvious and distinguishable, a design choice to bring comfort to the mortal psyche.

An easy way for a human to differentiate a person and a thing. If that line becomes blurred, then…

With a deep sigh, you reel your thoughts back from their philosophical journey. Regardless, it’d be a problem for the future to handle.

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Soft clacks resound from the keyboard as a new string of words appears on your screen, documenting the events of the day on your laptop as you sit on your sofa.

The soft cushions are a welcomed change from a stiff office chair. Just over the top of your screen, Alhaitham sat across from an adjacent couch. Methodically folding a basket of laundry and sorting them into piles. 

An easy enough task for him, but as you watch you make sure to note down the improvements in his motor skills and dexterity. Movements organic and fluid, much like those of a human.

It truly is astonishing just how far technology has progressed, from clockwork pieces and clunky steps to the specimen sitting just a few steps away. 

A tall and sturdy frame, well-portioned face with handsome teal irises, and synthetic starlight hair. Features created from the finest equipment and materials, a truly magnificent piece of scientific progress.

Amid your appreciation for his structure, Alhaitham halts all motion, setting down the towel back into the basket. Resulting in your eyebrows creasing together. 

“What’s wrong Alhaitham? Did you forget how to fold a towel?” 

Alhaitham did not attempt to entertain your jest, so much so, that he simply stared past you. Teal eyes honing in on an object just beyond you, never breaking focus to discern the bewilderment on your face.

Finally relenting, you follow his stare toward a clock, reading the time: 5:00 p.m. 

“Seriously? You haven’t finished folding the laundry yet,” you remark in utter exasperation. 

The teal glow of his eyes shows that he’s received your remark, yet he doesn’t make an effort to return a verbal response. He chooses instead to simply continue staring at the time as his hands wait by his side in opposition.

Him staring at a clock, you staring at him, a one-sided showdown. 

A naughty cat prancing about a countertop where it shouldn’t be could simply be picked up and removed.

A disobedient dog dirtying the couch with its muddy paws could be lured off with the sight of a treat.

But an android? What are you going to do to an android whom you had to tilt your head up to make eye contact with? 

This wasn’t a hill you’re willing to die on, thus with a dismissive wave of your hand, you concede. Allowing Alhaitham to do as he pleases, which he graciously does. His form leaves the couch, heading in the predictable direction of the library as a deep sigh leaves you.

This stubborn android of yours, you made sure to document this on today’s report. Just as how it was yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before that. 

Hopefully, in the event of an actual android apocalypse, he might show you the same leniency. You couldn’t help but scoff at your ridiculous musings. A machine with nothing but a motor and battery in his chest, would he understand leniency even if you were to code it into him? 

Soon his frame comes back into view, a pile of books clutched within his hold, just as you predicted. Shamelessly, he sits in the middle of his unfinished chores while leisurely scanning the pages in front of him. 

This fickle, strange, and stubborn android follows the rhythm of his own motor regardless of what protocols you instill.

Yet, as you watch his fingers flip through the worn book and take up space on your couch, a smile develops on your features. A soft curl of your lips, easily obscured by the screen of your laptop. 

A fickle, strange, and stubborn android is not too different from a person, one who had a heartbeat.

An android who takes up space on your couch and house, making it a bit less empty than previously. That was good enough. 

What made man? Intellect? Innovation? Language? 

This was the dilemma assigned to him since the very first time his system powered up in that facility, welcomed into this world by glaring fluorescent lights and the numerous stares of figures in white coats.

A dilemma that follows him even to his current place on a spacious couch.

According to sources pulled from the Akasha and cross-references from numerous printed materials made available to him, many throughout history have been pondering this same conundrum. A philosopher once defined man as featherless bipeds. 

However, wouldn’t this make a plucked chicken a man too? A definition so ambiguous a mere student proved the teacher wrong. 

Then, is man defined by their flesh? Having skin and bones instead of silicon parts and metal components? To have blood pumped by a heart instead of operating off a battery and motor? Was it biology that defined man?

But if that was the simple truth, then why was Frankenstein’s creation addressed as nothing more than a monster?

From his arms to his legs to his mind, everything which made up that creature was human. He had blood, he had flesh, he had bones. So why was he chased away by flaming torches and pitchforks as a mob screamed ‘monster’? Why was a creature made from human flesh not human?

His train of thought halts as a familiar set of steps patter against the floor. Automatically, his sights hone in at the corner of a wall even before your face reveals itself from behind it. 

Teal-colored eyes refocus to catch the subtle perk of your eyebrows and widened eyes. An expression of surprise he analyzes, his immediate focus must have caught you off guard.

Did you have some other test outlined for him? Did you need to collect more data from earlier today? Another household task perhaps? 

How unfortunate, the hour on the clock read half past 8 p.m. Have you not learned from your tardiness the week prior?

“If you have a request, then please wait until 9 a.m. tomorrow when I’m within my business hours.” 

Even with the wall partially obscuring your form, the restrained giggle through lips fighting back a grin was picked up by his audio system. 

“No, no, there’s no more tasks for today.” 

As your gaze centers on him, he takes note of the refractions of fluorescent lights along your irises.

“Then is there something you’d like to discuss?” He prompts. 

“Mm… no, not right now.”

His stone-faced stare was enough of a response, judging by the smile spreading across your features.

“I just felt like checking up on you, after all, you are the most proprietary piece of technology at the moment.” 

At times like these, Alhaitham felt that the audio cue of a sigh was the most effective communication out of all the languages created by man. Muffed chuckles accompany it. 

“I’ll leave you be then.” 

The floorboards trill under your steps as you amble towards the kitchen. Alhaitham returns to the last few pages still left open on his lap. 

Small tinkering from beyond the living room serves as an ambient tune. The swift opening and closing of a refrigerator door. A harsh pull on a microwave door is contrasted by the bright beeps of buttons, leading to a low hum.

He hypothesizes there to be some leftovers spinning around. 

After the microwave sang its concluding chimes, the clatter of a plate follows a firm tug. A drawer rattles open, metal clinking against metal as you sift around for the right utensil. The drawer rattles again as it closes. 

Rhythmic footsteps take center stage as they trail back down an empty hall, Alhaitham waits to hear the resounding click of a door returning to its frame. Just as the final echo of the click sounds out through the air he places the finished novel on the coffee table. 

Leaving the comfort of the cushions, he makes his way to the kitchen to access the aftermath. A microwave door left wide open, a drawer only halfway closed, and of course another dirty coffee mug in the sink. 

Returning the microwave and drawer to their rightful states, his teal eyes count the pile of cups sitting since this morning. A collection that grew throughout the day. 

Alhaitham looks up in the direction of your office. A soft glow leaked out from under the gap of the door, bleeding light into the dim hall. His systems identify the audible taps of a keyboard and the occasional shift of an office chair. He deduces that you were working overtime again. 

He found it a bit ironic at times. A body of mechanical components has no qualms about lounging on a sofa. But you, a creature of flesh and blood, refuse to submit to the allure of rest. Although, Alhaitham wouldn’t find it too implausible that coffee ran through those veins of yours instead. 

Repetitive clacks of keys and mouse clicks play a melody he had heard ever since the first day he opened his eyes.

A tune that accompanies the rhythm of his steps and motions when he goes about his tasks as you document them.

A lullaby that plays after his routine tasks as he heads back to his charging port when you log a daily report. 

An accompaniment to the silent moon and her stars as you stay up at a desk. 

Needing to reach the next exit criteria. Needing to collect the next set of data. Needing to submit the next report. 

Would it be because a body of flesh has agency? With cells in a losing race against time, was there something you wanted to attain within your mortal hands from this research before the race ended?

Or did you just want to fill the vacant lull of this house with those little taps of a keyboard?

Regardless, it’s not within his capacity to disturb your work. Thus all he could do was roll up his sleeves, turn on the running water, and pick up a sponge. Scrubbing the cups with warm soapy water, imitating the motions you’ve shown him before, until the dried stains vanish. 

If it’s not featherlessness, if it’s not bipedalism, and if it’s not flesh… then could it just be agency that made him different from you? 

Maybe he’ll ask you another day, placing the cups into the dish rack. 

Sorting and organizational tasks are his strong suit, in other words, he’s very good at completing easy jobs. Leaving the more… tedious chores to you.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rest on the handle of the broom. The hallway between your office and the bedrooms is the last section that needs to be swept. 

Alhaitham was likely back in his place on the couch, book in hand as he lounged around. Weren’t androids created in hopes of making life easier?

 So much for that, you internally huffed, repositioning your grip on the broom. A soft but bright clink catches your attention. Glancing down, you quickly discover the source. A ring wrapped around your finger.

Kept on your finger for so long, it’s become almost an extension of yourself, this keepsake piece of jewelry. 

Abandoning the broom against a wall, your other hand fiddles with the gold band. A frown forms upon your lips when a faint scratch shows itself on the gold surface

Gingerly, you remove the ring, pinching it between your fingers as you hold it up to the light, examining the damage closer. The shine of its once-polished surface was dulled by trivial scuffs and dents, damaged by the signs of time.

Regrettably, it seems you’ve been neglecting it as well. 

So much so, that the ring felt compelled to remove itself from your grasp in protest. Slipping out of your tender hold, which propels you into motion, graceless attempts at catching the small piece of jewelry to no avail. 

 It soon collides with the wooden floor as a chime rings out, still, gravity didn’t buy you enough time to catch the evasive gem. For it then decides to run under the gap of a door, disappearing from your sight. Leaving you there in defeat. 

Taking a deep inhale, holding it for a few seconds, you release the air in your lungs. Returning your gaze up from the wood grain, you stare at the obstacle in front of you: a mere door. 

Its brass knob gleams as if to taunt you, daring you to open it, to face what lay beyond. Slowly, you release your clenched fingers, setting your hand back into motion. You’re far too grown to be scared of a room in your own home, especially when you know what is behind it. 

Its hinges ring out in surprise, it’s been a while since they were opened. The daunting door opens up to reveal a lackluster collection of old furniture, picture frames, and various other assortment of items.

Their forms all covered by plain sheets thrown over them, silhouettes, outlined like ghost. A slight tickle appears in your nose from the layers of dust you disturbed. 

A poor, unfortunate room you’ve designated as storage, where items go to be neglected. You were busy enough with work as it is.

To avoid seeing the reminders of responsibilities you’ve been pushing off, you’d rather throw them behind a door. Out of your sight, out of your mind. 

The sooner you find that ring, the sooner you can turn a blind eye to the various items you’ve long abandoned yet refused to let go of. Amongst the dull dust and sheets, it wasn’t very hard to spot the golden glimmer from peaking through. 

Trudging towards the mischievous ring, you kneel to finally catch it within your hand. Such a troublesome thing, you chide as you stand back up. Bracing your other hand on the nearest sheet-covered surface, only for it to come into contact with an odd object.

Startled, you instinctively hold onto both the ring and the odd object as you jolt back up. Glancing down at your hands, your eyes finally identify the object. 

A collection of tiny planets and stars dangling from thin strings glimmered with the soft light creeping in from the afternoon sun. A soft smile made its way to your lips.

How silly it was that a toy made to entertain young infants had you so enraptured. You bought it on a whim, then tossed it into the depths of a dust-covered room. And yet it’s now back in your hands. Perhaps the beckoning of the stars still calls for you. 

A part of you wonders if it was your fascination with the night sky that caused sleep to evade you. Sitting up on a mattress well past bedtime to gaze out to the vast ocean of dazzling and blinking lights that dotted against a navy backdrop. While the pristine radiance of the moon reflected off your irises. 

Or did your fascination develop because it was always the moon and her stars that silently accompanied your long nights?

Gentle lights who lent you their well wishes and encouragement as you anguished through assignments and exams. 

What an honor it was for you to be able to witness her beauty so often. It was a pity that some, who disregarded her grace in favor of dreams, weren’t able to experience the brilliance of a starry night.

Maybe your parents fell in the category of the majority. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t even fathom such a thing. 

A past conversation over an old wooden table started in your mind before you could muster the strength to push it back. 

–----

“C’mon, eat, eat.” Your mother places a hearty serving of Biryani in front of you. 

The old kitchen table groaned under the weight of the spread of dishes on its surface. To call it anything short of a feast would be a lie. The walls of the modest home are filled with a variety of rich aromas and spices. 

“You have to eat to study harder, don’t think just because you made it into the Akademiya you can take it easy now.” Your father remarked. 

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.” You picked up your fork. 

Letting out a chuckle, he pats your back as a rare smile graced his stern face. Your mother’s face mirrored the same radiance, the beaming glow of pride. For you, their daughter, their only child, and only hope had been accepted into the Akademiya. 

The most prestigious university of all of Sumeru and Teyvat, with millions competing for those few spots each and every year. Only the best of the best, only those who outshone the rest, and only those gifted and blessed would ever be admitted.

Yet, you were sent a letter from the oh-so-grand institution. 

A child from a town far away in the shadows of the grand Akademiya was accepted.

What were the odds of that? For a child whose own parents never got the opportunity for higher education to become the first to go off to university? The cause of this celebratory feast. 

The warm Spring breeze contributed to the sweetness of this small moment in time, as plates were passed and glasses clanked.

All those scattered notes, cramped hands, and revisions have rewarded you with the golden brilliance of sunrise after endlessly long nights. 

A smile crept up the corners of your lips. A light has finally appeared to illuminate this trending path you’ve climbed. 

Your father washed down his previous bite with a sip from his cup, placing it down before he began his next question:

“Have you decided on which Darshan to go into?” 

The sweet breeze turns into a chill down your spine as your fork halts its motion. The dilemma you have been dreading has finally arrived at the kitchen table. 

You had to memorize every mathematical formula. You had to pinpoint every detail in a historical timeline. You had to know every syntax of a sentence. You had to understand the molecular structures of life. 

A child had to learn everything, and now they had to pick something to learn. How would the child know? The child only knew how to study. 

“Amurta? Spantamad? Oh, what about Kshahrewar? I heard that it was also good.” Your mother chimed in. 

“Amurta?” Your father scoffed a bit. 

“Dear, as if this tuition isn’t expensive enough, think of how much med school will cost.”��

“Oh I know, I know, but you know how well doctors get paid! I heard those labs also give a decent salary.” Your mother reasons. 

“Ah, but it takes too long. Engineering isn’t half bad either, there’s been a demand for more engineers recently.” Your father takes another sip of his drink.

“Oh, but it’s not up to us,” she turned to face you. 

“It’s up for our little scholar now isn’t it?” 

A paradoxical question, because your options were already decided for you from the very start.

Carefully selected paths were already laid out before you as your parents watched on with expecting eyes, waiting for your foot to take a step on the path they wanted most. 

Poking at a stray grain of rice on your plate, you gather up the scattered pieces of courage. You were a child who only knew how to study, yet, a child is still susceptible to dreams, no?

“I have thought about it.” You began.

“And?” Your mother couldn’t help but nudge you to continue. 

“I was thinking about Rtawahist,” you confessed. 

It was as if even the sweet Spring air wanted to escape the now-still walls, leaving dread to fill the void it had left. No dishes were passed, no utensils rattled, and no cups clinked. Just bewildered stares you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. 

“Rtawahist? As in the school that looks at the sky?” Your father’s face had returned to its stern default. 

“Astronomy? Yes, that’s the Darshan that studies Astronomy.” Your eyes didn’t dare leave your plate. 

Among the options selected by them from their perceptions of future opportunities and prestige for you. You dare interject with one of your own. 

A deep sigh sealed your fate. 

“Astronomy? You want to study Astronomy? And get what job?” 

The pierce from your father’s harsh tone made you flinch, even though you expected it. 

“You can look at the stars for free, why would I pay to send you to school to study something so useless?”

“There are jobs for Astronomy.” You reasoned. 

“Like what?” His finger drummed against the wood. 

“Like-” 

You made the mistake of looking up from your plate, the fragile wisps of courage dissipated like smoke the moment you did. All the arguments and rebuttals you had prepared vanished along with it. The frown that pulled down your father’s face and the scrunched brow concern of your mother’s were enough to snuff out your pitiful rebellion. 

“Go on.” He challenged. 

“...” 

“That’s what I thought.” Your father snatched up his cup. 

Your focus retreated back to your plate, recentering on the grains of rice you pushed around with the ends of a fork. A motion that continued until another hand stopped yours. 

“Little one…” Your mother began. 

Her thumb traced over your fidgeting hand, a touch which comforted yet scorned you all at once. 

“You know that lady who lived down the street? Her son got a career working with computers and now they live in a big house, doesn’t that sound nice?”

You hummed. 

“Kshahrewar isn’t so bad, right? Just a few years and then you can get a good job.” 

Yes, she had spelled out the purpose of your studies like red-inked corrections on a test. It was how it always was, why did you think it would change now?

Having to prove you deserved the food on the plate in front of you.

Having to bring home top grades to prove all those books and materials were worth it.

Having to get a job that could break this cycle your parents were trapped in. How else would you be able to pay them back? 

It was their mora, earned from long hours and labor, that fed you, clothed you, and sheltered you. They made your world with their calloused hands. It was their justification to command it as well. You were their only child, their only investment. 

This was the dilemma imposed upon you. 

–----

Your fingers clench around the childish imitation of the night sky, running the plastic surfaces under your mindless touch. Thoughts still light years away in the recesses of your memories. 

How silly, for someone who loved the planet and the stars so much how did you forget that one fascinating detail? Planets orbit a sun because of gravity.

It was the force of a greater mass that commanded the lesser, it was what kept a planet going round and round within its grasp. It was the gravity of the sun that gave a planet a direction, a path to follow, a purpose even. 

Perhaps it’s because the sun knew what was best for its little planet.

It was the diplomas framed nicely on a wall that granted you a secure job, it was your cushy job that permitted you to purchase this cushy home. 

Your parents planned this out long ago, thus you merely just followed. 

However, when the sun disappears, when the central mass that gave a small planet a purpose disappears, what would the little planet do? 

Drifting endlessly in a vacuum of nothingness, with no direction, no path, no light. No day or night and an endless Winter, would it be as if the world stopped spinning.

That little planet would be no different than a cold lump of rock in a vast emptiness. 

A sharp creak pierces through the tormentful quietude, a chirr that reels your thoughts back to a dusty room. Head instinctively following the direction of the noise, you fixate on the doorway.

Catching the diffused afternoon sun glimmering in silver locks reminiscent of starlight. 

Alhaitham stands silently at the threshold of the door, its frame perfectly centering him as his teal eyes analyze you. Not a single engineered limb crossed the boundary of the dusty room. Just as it was defined in a set of restrictions implemented into his system by you. 

As evidenced by his unintentional disregard for his environment, the floorboards bearing witness to his careless execution of chores, you restricted him from this decrepit room.

Although all it contains is a chaotic collection of trinkets and keepsakes, the dust-coating provides them with a blanket of security. You saw no reason to change it. 

A telling teal glow blinks momentarily before Alhaitham breaks the lull.

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

It was just now that you noticed the wet trails rolling down your cheeks. Wiping away the cooling dampness on your skin, you confirmed the presence of tears. Your senses took their time returning from their escapade.

Alhaitham remains in his spot, patiently awaiting your next response. How embarrassing it is, to be seen in such a state by a being who could shed no tears. Quickly, you wipe away the trails on your other cheek.

“I’m fine, just lost in thought for a moment.” Swiftly you place the toy down.

A smooth weight encased in the palm of your hand reminds you of the ring, the item that lured you into this dusty room.

Perhaps it should be best to have let it remain undisturbed on your finger. It’s a common wives’ tale that keepsakes ward off bad omens. 

“Is that truly all?” He made a no move, his eyes rescanning the environment as if unconvinced by your answer. 

You wonder if it’s because of some protocol or conditional in his software. Safety measures set in place during this test of whether an artificial being could live in harmony with mortals. 

However, as you gaze upon your magnum opus the specifics of programming and software fade into irrelevancy. Trailing your eyes up from his teal irises to his starlight silver trusses that glimmered in the soft light, revealing a hint of mint. It took you a while to find that exact shade during his manufacturing stage. 

There’s always a chance that a drifting planet could be caught in the orbital pull of another. Whether it be man-made or not didn’t matter.

As long as it was of a significant mass its gravity should be enough to pull a lonely planet from its aimless wanderings. It can set the stray planet into a new orbit, giving it a new path. 

A small lump of rock could find a new star to center around. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” 

You will be fine. Slowly, and with one step after another, you will be fine one day. 

The typical 24-hour day for a working adult can be broken down into a set schedule. Waking up at around 8 a.m. to wash one’s face and brush their teeth as they make themselves presentable for work. Followed by a light breakfast or a cup of coffee before. 

Some then start their commute to work or jump onto their desktop to clock in around 9 a.m. to begin their work. In the middle of their shift, usually around noon, they are granted a one-hour lunch break, after that they work until 5 p.m. when they finish their work. 

Coming back home to enjoy dinner around 7 p.m. followed by an hour or two of leisure before a bedtime routine begins. Washing the day's influences off oneself, brushing their teeth, and changing into comfortable attire.

If they want to get a restful 8 hours of sleep they cannot go to bed any later than 10:45 p.m. to account for the 15-minute downtime to allow the body to enter the sleeping state. 

This cycle then resets and repeats just as the sky cycles through the sun and moon. A typical and average reality for most adults in Sumeru. Well, from the data he pulled from the Akasha, this was the typical day for the average working civilian. 

It just so happens that you’re a stray data point skewing the graph.

If he were to estimate your bedtimes from the activity of your desktop and laptop, it would be a chaotic set of timestamps ranging from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., sometimes the activity on your devices never ceased. An indication of what is referred to as an ‘all-nighter’.

Behavior that might be acceptable for those attending the Akademiya, but certainly not for a working adult. 

At this moment, Alhaitham stood in the hall just a few steps away from your bedroom door. His frame remained motionless to avoid disturbing the floorboards beneath him.

Taking into account your device’s activities, Alhaitham estimates your bedtime was 4: 45 a.m. this morning. Given how your alarm is set to around 8 a.m., amounting to about 3 hours of sleep.

Not even half of the recommended time by Sumeru’s health administration. 

By all means, Alhaitham finds it confounding how you’re still able to perform so efficiently at your job, managing both the Insitute and Akademiya while operating on a few morsels of sleep.

He wonders if that was the reason why you were selected as the personnel who’s facilitating his learning. 

Perhaps, they hoped he’d emulate your work ethic and efficiency. How unfortunate, his self-learning pivoted him away from such conduct. 

As he stands observing the woodgrain of your door, Alhaitham finds himself at a crossroads. It’s not within his capacity to interfere, conditionals coded into his software to prevent him from disrupting your privacy.

Laws mandating the privacy of employees and civilians alike.

Simultaneously, there are protocols instilled in him that instruct him to prevent harm from befalling you. 

A contradiction. Something that would cause a regular system to return an error as it fails to satisfy one conditional while trying to work within the bounds of another. 

Chronic sleep loss results in an increased risk of heart attacks, strokes, and hypertension.

Long-term sleep loss also results in impaired memory and concentration, although it’s not affecting your productivity now, it doesn’t mean it won’t decline soon.

These statistics were all provided by Sumeru’s health administration. 

The effects on the brain are quite severe as well, with increased feelings of stress, anxiety, and depression.

A quiet afternoon scene replays, in a dust-covered room, where he found you staring off at nothing as silent rivulets rolled down your cheeks.

That memory stored within his RAM was enough for Alhaitham to come to his conclusion. 

Alhaitham must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

To allow you to continue your destructive routine which is proving to be detrimental to your health would be inadvertently allowing harm to befall you. Thus, he decides one conditional must override another. 

Careful to prevent the hinges of your bedroom door from trilling, Alhaitham enters. Analyzing the shape outlined by messy layers of blankets draped over your figure, you must still be in the depths of slumber.

There are about 15 minutes before your first alarm is set to go off, since your commute was a simple walk to your home office, you had the flexibility to sleep through a few grating beeps. 

This habit could use a few improvements. He turns his focus to the thick curtains hiding the room away from the greetings of a morning star.

Sunlight sends a signal to the pituitary gland, calling to suppress melatonin production and increase cortisol production and serotonin.

A natural cue for your body to start, to allow the bright rays to touch your skin would also be good for vitamin production too. 

With a simple tug, the thick drapes were pulled away, granting the rays of the sun to enter and illuminate the still room.

Your body instinctively retreats deeper under the covers, a clear sign that the light is doing its job. He’ll leave the rest up to the alarm impatiently waiting to belt out its chorus of pitches. Just like the shadows slipping away, he exits just as quietly. 

It took only two alarms to get you out of bed and ambling down the hall toward the kitchen. A 60% decrease from when the curtains were shut, however, more trials are needed to conclusively establish a pattern.

His teal gaze follows you as you approach the kitchen. Hands rubbing at your eyes. 

“Why is it so bright?” Your words were groggy. 

“It’s morning,” he answers. 

An unamused glare replaces the fatigue in your expression, Alhaitham deems his response satisfactory. 

After a deep sigh, you shut your eyes again, still trying to adjust to the brightness surrounding you, hands returning to rub at your eyelids.

Excessive rubbing of the eyes isn’t good for them, he notes. However, before he could address it another prompt from you took priority. 

“Did I leave my curtains open last night?” You asked yourself. 

“Coffee?” He interjects. 

Glancing back up at him, you paused for a moment as your groggy mind remembered why you traversed to the kitchen in the first place, diverting your attention away from mysteriously moving drapes. 

“Yes, please make me a cup, Alhaitham.” 

“Understood.”

The android turns toward the marble countertop, preparing the coffee grounds into the machine as you sit at your place at the table.

One day isn’t enough to correct a bad habit, but over time, bit by bit, your schedule will fall into a new rhythm. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The cheerful doorbell ring interrupts Alhaitham amidst reorganizing the books on a shelf. Right on schedule.

From just down the hall he hears the knob of your office door turn as it opens, followed by a few cautious steps as you venture closer to the front door. As you pass the doorway of the library, Alhaitham observes the furrow between your brow on your perplexed face. 

“Is there someone at the door?” You turn to him. 

Another ring followed by a few gentle knocks answers your question for him as your head snaps back into the direction of the noise. Crime in this suburban neighborhood is very low, but he does understand why you’d want to be careful.

Perhaps, he should accompany you to ease your nerves over the sudden ring from the door. 

With an android just behind you, you had finally mustered up the courage to answer the daunting door under his teal supervision. 

“Hello, delivery from Lambad’s Tavern, paid online.” 

“Huh?-” 

“One order of Minty Bean Soup, one order of butter chicken, and one rose custard?” The delivery man interrupts your confusion as he lists off your entrees. 

“Yes…” you reply as you cast a glance back at an idle android. 

The entrees listed were all dishes you asked him to make you for lunch a few hours earlier. Judging by the suspicion upon your furrowed brows, he could tell that you noticed as well. However, with a delivery man holding out the takeout bag on the front steps. It’d be rude to just have him remain there, no? 

“Enjoy your meal!” He announces as he hands over the bag into your arms. 

“Yes, thank you.” You close the door, spinning around almost instantly to confront the android with the bag still in hand. 

“Did you order this?”

“Yes.” 

“Again? I asked you to make food, not order it,” you tsk. 

“I did it to optimize my time.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“All you have to do is heat up the frozen meals.” 

“Then according to protocol, I’d have to stay in the kitchen to watch over the oven and stove, not to mention the dishes I’d have to wash afterward. So ordering takeout would save time as well as not prevent me from my task of organizing-”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” You concede with a sigh. 

Taking a few steps past him towards the direction of the kitchen before you pause midstep to turn back to him. 

“Do not use your funds to order weird things off the internet.” You warn before promptly continuing on your way to have your late lunch. 

“Understood.” 

Just as he suspected, there isn’t a problem that can’t be helped with a bit of mora. If Alhaitham were to follow your request as you instructed, he knew that the reheated meal would turn cold as it sits abandoned on the kitchen table.

Even when he informs you of his task’s completion, you’d push back your lunchtime until you needed another dose of caffeine. 

However, a simple ring of a doorbell could do what he can’t. Drawing your attention and body away from the confines of your desk. An efficient reminder to have your meals at a regular time if he says so himself.

Besides, fresh ingredients are better than frozen meals in terms of nutrients. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The sun had long retreated into a navy blanket of the night, allowing the moon to take its place in the sky. Serene beauty watching over the nighttime bustle of Sumeru city slowly peters out, and many return to their homes at the beck and call of slumber. 

Alhaitham settled himself upon his spot on the couch, a lamp just off to the side illuminating the pages of his book softly. The quiet lull of the living room periodically broken by the crisp turn of a page.

The typical rhythm that resonates through the house around this hour. His acute senses pick up a frustrated pair of steps pattering closer. 

Ah, yes a new accompaniment has jumped this evening's tempo. 

“Is the router having issues again?” You groan as your frame appears from around the corner. 

Casting a halfhearted glance off to where said device sat on a side table, his teal eyes return to his book. 

“The light shows that it’s online.” 

“Then why is it taking forever to upload a simple file? It’s been five minutes and it’s not even halfway done.” You took quick strides past his idle frame. 

Crouching down to be at eye level with the device in question. Unplugging the power cord from its back and then sticking it back. Eyes studying the blinking lights as the router reboots and reconnects to the internet.

Pulling out your phone, you sigh as you try to load up a webpage only to be met by a spinning circle of contemplation. 

“Network providers tend to have slowdowns this late at night, some say it's due to bandwidth congestion while others argue that they do it to cut costs,” Alhaitham states, teal eyes honed in onto the text as to avoid your pouting glare. 

“Very helpful, Alhaitham.” Another sigh leaves you as you stand back up. 

He spoke the technical truth, those companies do tend to slow down their networks at night to save on some operational costs.

However, in this case, it was the former that was causing your device’s screens to perpetually stay in loading. Activities such as streaming videos, music, or downloading files take up the most bandwidth.

Alhaitham simply wanted to download some digital copies of recent scientific journals, and maybe a few songs here and there as well. All done simultaneously which led to some congestion.

How unfortunate. 

“This has been happening for the past month now, I should call the network provider, it’s driving me up a wall.” Another groan of frustration. 

His teal eyes follow your figure from behind the tops of his book, watching you rub your temples as if to expel the exasperation from your body with each mumble that leaves your lips. 

“The internet’s so slow I can’t even connect to the Akasha’s databases, that file is still uploading, what should I do in the meantime?”

His hearing was able to pick up each syllable uttered from under your exhausted breath. He shifts his focus momentarily toward the clock just across the room, reading: 10:00 p.m. Since you asked, it’s only right that he responds with his input. 

“It’s an issue beyond your control, the best option to utilize your time at this moment would be to get an adequate amount of rest.” 

This time it was your turn to respond to him with a deadpan stare, clearly unamused by his suggestion. 

“I want to analyze a few more datasets.”

“Missing a few hours of overtime won’t have any determinate effects on your productivity or livelihood.” 

“This is for the sake of your development, Alhaitham.” You sigh as if your statement would mystically change his rationale. 

“The short-term gratification you’ll get from sacrificing your rest for a few revelations isn’t worth the long-term ramifications of your health.” He bluntly discloses. 

Silence fills the room once more, but something odd seems to have mingled with the serenity of the air. This strange inclusion prompts Alhaitham to finally turn away from the pages, connecting his gaze with yours. 

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” He studies your expression, and rather than furrowed brows, he finds a soft roundness to your eyes. 

Him staring at you, you staring at him. A scene that continued for a few beats more before you were the first to break the stalemate. 

“No, not at all… it’s just very reminiscent of something I’ve heard before…” You turn away as his gaze follows. 

A few slow strides take you back to the corner, figure just about to disappear into the shadows engulfing the halls before you abruptly turn around. 

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

“Goodnight.” He mirrors. 

Alhaitham marks today as another successful trail of correcting a bad routine. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Adequate amounts of sunlight, regular meals, and coffee grounds mysteriously find themselves placed on the highest shelf in the cabinets. All the factors were in place to regulate a disastrous sleep schedule. 

Yet when Alhaitham checks your device activity, the data points remain scattered about the twilight hours of the morning. A true paradox.

Amongst the Summer afternoon rays seeping in through the windows, Alhaitham was tasked with tidying up the kitchen. An obscure cabinet in a corner was the last section before he could deem the request complete. 

There wasn’t anything in particular about the cabinet, it’s space housing an assortment of various vitamins. That was until his hand brushed against a plastic container which didn’t conform to the typical shape of vitamin bottles. 

Grasping it within his hand, he pulls the irregular bottle out from the murky depths of a cabinet and out into the sunlight where its identity unravels: a prescription bottle.

Barbiturates sedatives, colloquially referred to as sleeping pills, are used in treatments for insomnia. 

It looks like Alhaitham has stumbled upon the answer to the paradox printed on the faded label of a neglected bottle. 

Frankly, this revelation wasn’t all that surprising. He had long suspected it from the symptoms and behaviors you display daily. But it’s always good to support a hypothesis with evidence. 

Studying the container in his hand further, his gaze narrows as it hones in a corner of the label. In particular, the date printed along it. This bottle expired two years ago. 

It’s recommended that every civilian visits the Bimarstan annually for a checkup, in a nation where healthcare is free and accessible, this typically isn’t an issue.

Once more, you stood alone as a data point outside of the cluster. 

Stepping into the living room, he finds you tinkering with the network router again. A few more steps and then he was by your side. 

“When was your last medical check-up?” Cycling through his memory, Alhaitham failed to recall the last time you had a medical assessment.

Your body halts momentarily, before glancing up at his beryl eyes.

“I’m relatively healthy, there’s no reason for an assessment.” 

“The Department of Health recommends annual checkups at the very least.” 

“I don’t need to go to the Bimarstan,” you declare. 

A weight pulled down at the corners of his lips, creating what is called a frown. An expression he observed many times upon your lips whenever you label him as ‘stubborn’. He might finally grasp why you do such a thing.

Stubbornness isn’t such a good trait when you’re on the other side of it. Fortunately, he anticipated this. 

“In accordance with the law, you do.” The contents of the plastic bottle rattle as he reveals it, drawing your gaze toward it. 

“The regulation behind your prescription requires that all expired medication be brought back to the Bimarstan for proper disposal.” Denunciation behind his glass irises. 

Lips pressing into a thin line, you advert your eyes back to the blinking router in front of you. Each second of silence announces your defeat.

Human actions are limited by a set of laws and they must operate within the bounds, not too different from restrictions imposed on machines.

The consequences looming just a step away discourage most mortals from crossing the threshold. 

“I’ll schedule an appointment for noon next week, making use of your saved paid time off is recommended, does that work?” He prompts. 

“Alright.” 

A weight is alleviated from his lips, triggering the corners to curl upwards. A common response to the accomplishment of a challenge, he understands now why a mortal body does it. 

Perhaps a doctor's visit has been long overdue, foggy recollections of if the curtains were shut the night before and if a bag of coffee was accidentally misplaced. Poor memory is one of the repercussions of sleep deprivation, you’re aware of this fact. 

Healthcare in Sumeru is highly accredited for its accessibility and quality, the Bimarstan being the standard many hospitals around Teyvat strive to be. To have such a thing so accessible to you, it’s baffling to many how you failed to utilize such privilege.

You had your reasons. 

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates. A few vaguely familiar faces from across a lecture hall of some general course.

Faces you’ve passed slumped over textbooks and piles of notes in the late hours of the House of Daena, their dark circles matching yours.

Faces that graduated alongside you as celebratory cheers rang out with caps littering the air.

It’d be strange to meet someone you attended the Akademiya with once again in an examination room. 

After their years of medical school and surviving residency, you’re certain they’re more than qualified at their jobs. However, it doesn’t change the course of averted eyes and superficial pleasantries.

You breathe out a deep sigh as the receptionist calls out for you, informing you that you could head down to a private room. 

Leaving your seat in the waiting room, you do as the receptionist instructs, exiting the lively environment into a placid hallway. The receptionist’s face didn’t evoke any familiarity, nor did the doctor’s name listed on your appointment.

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates, but not all. 

Candidly, there’s only one classmate who you’d avert paths with within this establishment. In a hospital as large as the Bimarstan, the average number of staff ranges from around 5,000.

The odds of encountering a particular face out of a pool of thousands is nonzero. 

A polite knock draws you from your thoughts, your eyes travel toward the door of the private room you entered not too long ago as the handle slowly turns. Thick oak swinging ajar to reveal the figure on the other side. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Rana, I’ll be taking care of you today.” 

You return her greeting with a courteous smile and nod, statistics in your favor, the odds were nonzero but still a minuscule likelihood. 

The checkup was rather uneventful, a few questions were asked as she pulled up your medical records. You pulled out the expired medication for her to examine and deal with.

Vitals checked and documented as the appointment drew to a close, a notepad and pen in her hands as she turned to you. 

“Overall your health seems fine, although…” she trails off.

You could feel the weight of her stare upon the discoloration ever-present under your eyes, no layer of concealer to cover them. You could already guess her next sentence. 

“Would you like a refill of your prescription?”

“No, it’s fine.” It’d just be another bottle to be neglected in the back of a cabinet. 

“I see…” This time her eyes move back and forth between your sitting figure and a clock hanging in its place on a wall. 

“I… have to process some paperwork, could you wait here for a few minutes?” A polite smile graced her lips. 

“Of course.” You mimic her actions. 

A day requested off to account for a drawn-out appointment, to account for a scenario like this his foresight analysis is making great progress.

You should take note of that once you return home, a daily log still needs to be updated to track consistent progress after all. It’s technically your day off, but you’re free to decide what to do with it.

As you pondered a checklist to complete once you got in front of your desk the door creaks open. 

“Oh? That was fast, Dr. Rana-” The sentence dying upon the tip of your tongue as your lips press into a firm line. 

The odds of encountering one familiar face out of a pool of thousands is a small nonzero number, however, if that number was increased to three faces out of those thousands, the chances increase.

How unfortunate, even with such small odds, you managed to come face-to-face with the three people you wanted to avoid the most. 

They file into the room and the last one closes the door behind himself as your eyes scan over them. Starting with the ebony-haired man in the center, Tighnari, a doctor at the Bimarstan. It makes sense for a doctor to be in a hospital on this fine day, but not for a lawyer, or an architect.

Four former classmates gathered in an examination room, how strange. 

Still, you’ve grown enough to adapt to such peculiar situations. Practiced corporate smiles and pleasantries to navigate this stagnant air. 

“Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh, it’s a surprise to see you all here. It’s been a while.” 

“A while is a bit of an understatement…” Kaveh is the first of the trio to converse, offering you a small smile. 

You return it with one that didn’t reach your eyes. The rhythmic ticks of a clock fill the silence, shifting eyes anticipating and preparing for the next phase of this impromptu reunion. The doctor finally decides to speak up. 

“You haven’t been sleeping enough, have you.” Tighnari examining your under eyes. 

“I never sleep enough, you know that.” Of course you never slept enough.

How could you sleep when the threat of falling behind the geniuses sitting around a library table was always looming over you? Geniuses who easily grasp the concepts and theories that elude you. How could you lay in bed when you had to catch up to them? 

“So, why this sudden get-together?” Impatience rising inside you with each passing tick of the clock. 

Dropping the formalities and social pleasantries, you watch as another round of shifting eyes passes. You already had an inkling of the answer they’re still hesitating to address. Finally, your former Kshahrewar senior responds for the group. 

“We’re worried about you, you haven’t been in contact for a while now.” Kaveh’s voice was low and mellow, you could tell he took extra effort in marking it such. 

The same low and mellow tone he’d speak to you with as he tried to explain your mistakes on an exam, the tone which accompanied the pity in his gaze toward you as he pointed out each miscalculation on your paper. The tone made you ball your fist up on your lap.

“I’m fine, just busy.” 

“Please don’t start with that again.” The blond sighs, sympathy still ever-present in his eyes. 

“I’m just busy with work, as are all of you, we’re no longer students with minimal responsibilities,” you retort. 

The days when a group of friends could gather around a table for hours on end, half bantering and half studying, basking in the Spring warmth streaming in from the grand windows of the House of Daena have long passed. 

“We all have busy careers, that’s true, but not to the extent of being a detriment to our health.” With a sigh, Tighnari began his health lecture. 

Expounding upon the negative consequences of a poor work-life balance. Shifting your focus instead on tuning out this lecture you didn’t sign up for. 

“You stopped listening… of course,” a deep sigh concludes the doctor’s sermon. 

Ah, you’ve been found out. The polite smile straining itself upon your lips, legs itching to walk out of this restrictive space. 

“Here, it’s a contact of mine, I recommend you give her a call-” 

“It’s fine.” You promptly push away the business card just as Tighnari presents it to you, a thread of patience stretched thinly. 

“She can help you through-” he continues. 

“It’s fine, my research is just busy-”

“This isn’t healthy.” 

“It’s my research.” A sharp undertone leaks through your professional demeanor. 

“And this is why we’re worried about you!” Kaveh’s patience was the first snap. 

Then again, your senior might have been the light of Kshahrewar and a praised genius, but he was never the best at handling his emotional regulation. 

“Look around, don’t you see how concerned we are about you? No returned texts or calls and no answers at a doorbell for years, only ever talking about this research. It’s as if you-” he stops himself, rudy eyes meeting with your cold stare. 

He knew better than to finish that sentence, you knew that he knew he shouldn’t. 

“We’re worried about you, this research… it’s not good for you.” Tighnari interjects, attempting to shift the course of this intervention. 

Of course, when the development of an android was announced, there wasn’t just discourse amongst the general public, but debates raged throughout academia as well. How unfortunate it is that friends now stand at polar ends. 

“It’s my research,” you reaffirm. 

This research was why you got your doctorate, it’s why you have a job, it’s why you have a house. This research has entangled itself into the very fibers of your life. It was where a predetermined path had led you. 

The room fills once more with a lull, nothing but deep sighs and ever-shifting eyes. Neither side is able to get through to the other. Typical of most academic debates. Still, it seems they weren’t ready to end the intervention so soon. 

“Listen… we’re worried for you, I… I know it’s been very difficult these past years.” Your senior takes a step closer. 

That same sympathetic timbre brings a vile taste to your tongue. You stay silent in favor of pushing the bitterness down as it tries to claw its way through your polite façade.

“I… know what it must have been like for you, It’s been hard on all of us. I’ve experienced something similar, so I can tell you-”

“I’m sorry, Kaveh. But tragedies shouldn’t be compared, because they’ll never have a fair comparison.” You end the conversation. 

Just like how it isn’t fair to compare stars who were their own centers of gravity with a mere rock at the mercy of an orbital pull to give it direction. 

Even when you sat at the same table as them, you were never at the same level as them. Families with academic prestige, minds blessed with wisdom, and the freedom to pursue a self-chosen path. You could only ever look up at what you lacked.

“Your worlds kept on spinning, your lives move on with the change of the season. But not mine, mine stopped long ago.” It’s not fair to compare a rock to a star, from their silence, you assume they knew that too. 

“I’m now taking the initiative to make it start again, don’t interfere.” Your valediction to the geniuses whom you couldn’t live up to. 

It’s just the nature of this world, geniuses walked their own paths while others took another. Geniuses can’t understand those others, just as others can’t understand geniuses.

This doctor’s appointment has gone on for long enough. Gathering your belongings, you stride past them, eyes refusing to meet.

Your hand pried open the door, pausing just at the threshold as Cyno finally breaks his silence. 

“Is this truly what you want? To defy the edicts of finality with research?”

Ah, what an inquiry. Perhaps it’s just like a lawyer to ask such a thing. 

“Is my research in violation of any laws in Sumeru?” You refuse to meet his scarlet condemnation. 

“As of now, no.”

“Then I don’t see how this involves you, there’s no place for personal biases and mortals in the judicial system.” Crossing the threshold, the door creaks close behind you as hurried steps echo through the sterile hall. 

This was a mistake, you should’ve never come here. Your body was fine, your vitals are fine, you’re fine. There wasn’t a point in wasting time here, you needed to leave this place filled with faces offering you condolences. Exiting the narrow hall back into the dim murmurs that fill the waiting room, the last thread of patience starts to splinter. 

From the muddled chatter, a bright shrill rang above them all. Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source. Even in a sea of passing faces and colors, it didn’t take you long to find it. 

A young girl grins a smile with a few gaps as she stretches her arms out to her sides, mimicking an airplane. A young father helpless to his daughter’s giggles, hands secured around her legs as he lets her soar on his shoulders. Next to his side was a giggling mother, watching with amusement and endearment. 

A private moment hidden amongst the waiting room, you look away. You should return to the private walls of your house before that thread inevitably breaks. Sliding glass doors part to grant you exit from this suffocating cage.

Like a speck of dust drifting in the breeze, you disappear into the bustling crowd of Sumeru City. The push and pull of strangers further you along your route, even as your mind drifts off. 

With modern advancements in aerospace engineering, the chances of a plane crashing have decreased significantly, with recent statistics citing only 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

How long ago since the last time you’ve been inside an airport? What were your last memories of an airport? Do you remember?

–----

“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Your mother’s thumb traced over your hand. 

“It’s a bit too late for me to pack, we’re already at the airport, Mom.” 

“Don’t you want to visit Fontaine? Didn’t you say they had really advanced things there?” She didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I’m busy with my thesis.” You were still in the midst of getting a Ph.D., the very thing they demanded of you. 

“But I planned this trip so we could spend time together.” Your mother tried to get you to meet her gaze.

You adverted your eyes. So this is how they spent their recent financial flexibility. With a scholarship and research-assistant salary, you had enough to cover the tuition by yourself, relieving your parents of that burden. But to get that scholarship and salary, you had to pay with your time. 

“I’m busy, mom.” You freed your hand from her grasp. 

“But-”

“Stop it dear, she’s not going to change her mind.” Your father’s gruff voice stopped your mother. 

“There’s no point in trying to change the mind of an ungrateful child.” 

You felt the weight of his disappointed stare upon you, a frown formed on your lips as they pressed together. This was a sudden trip announced to you just a few days prior, you didn’t have time to accompany them. But they didn’t seem to care.

Of course they didn’t. Your parents only ever saw the grades, the diplomas, the results. But they never bothered to see the anguish you endured to give it to them. 

“Enjoy your trip.” Words barely passed your clenched teeth as you turned around and walked away. 

An ungrateful planet ignored the calls from their mother in their first successful act of defiance. Trying to break away from their gravitational pull. 

–----

That was your last memory of the airport.

Those were the last memories two parents had of their child.

The child they sacrificed their time, labor, and freedom to build a better life for. Your parent’s last memories were that of an ungrateful child, maybe it was the last scene they thought of as a plane was swallowed by the salty depths. 

Humans, defined by their curiosity, will always yearn to reach as high as they can. Tales warning those to never fly too close to the ever-bright star ignored in the pursuit of radiant curiosity. Your parents were no different. 

They ever had the chance to travel, too busy trying to provide food in front of you. So when the burdening weight was lifted, naturally they wanted to stretch their wings to see the views they never got to in their youth. They always wanted to touch the sky, to reach for the moon.

There’s a proverb often told to young minds: ‘Shoot for the moon, even if you fall, you can still land on a star’. 

This saying is riddled with inaccuracies. The stars are much further away than the serene moon. Beckoning the curious eyes to look at them, for curious hands to yearn for them. 

But once the glue on those wings are melted away by selfish rays, what is there to catch them besides the cold unfeeling ocean? Did they sink from the memories of an ungrateful child weighing on them? 

You should’ve been on that plane. 

The familiar features of your neighborhood come into view, the doors of your house are just ahead. Just hold on, don’t let that thread snap just yet, just a few more steps. 

Tighnari had his father and mother working right alongside him at the Bimarstan.

Cyno had regular visits to his adoptive father, and sometimes his adoptive sister Lisa visits too.

Kaveh had reconnected with his mother overseas, now having a few younger half-siblings who jump to greet him every time he visits.

Lives still spinning and warm in the light of their brilliance. What do you have? 

A job in a career picked out for you. Paychecks rotting in a bank account with no one to pay back. A spacious and hallow house with no one to reside in its empty walls, only displaying a doctorate you loathed.

A stray rock who lost her stars. Wandering without their gravitational pull in the vacuum of a lonely darkness. Just what do you have?

“Alhaitham,” you call out just as the front door slams behind you. 

You could hear his steady steps approaching along the wooden floor, but it’s too slow so your frenzied steps close in the distance between your two forms. The thread gives in and snapping as the recoil proliferates through your body. 

Without a greeting, no prompt, or prior warning your grasp wrinkles his once pristine button-down.

The bitter tears you held back now soak into the fabric as even viler cries choke your voice. The shame of displaying such a sight in front of a being whose eyes don’t produce moisture is long abandoned. In the walls of this hallow house, your broken sobs echo off. 

He stands still in the middle of the hall, the low hum of his motor resonating in your ears as you hide your face deeper into the synthetic skin of his chest. But that’s fine, the whir of motor is enough of a substitute for a heartbeat. 

Alhaitham stands in front of the reflection staring back at him, he had undocked himself from the charging port not too long ago. Tracing over the synthetic material stretched over his imitation of a collarbone as his mind wanders.

There aren’t enough chemicals in tears to make them corrosive, nor were they at the temperature to boil.

So why does it burn?

Trailing his fingertips where your tears soaked onto his skin, recollections of the searing sensation that afflicted the area with each sorrowful drop. Choking sobs which he caused. 

He failed to consider all causal factors to assess the situation fully and failed to appraise all possible alternatives. He failed to make the right decision, and he let harm befall you because of it. It’s strange, there’s nothing wrong with his eyes, yet he finds it hard to look in the mirror. 

Teal gaze scrutinizes the arms, legs, and body in the reflection. The reflection in front of him had all the identifiable components of a man, but they’re all synthetic.

From the tips of his sliver hair to the vast expanse of his skin, they’re all made from high-quality silicon parts supported by a metal frame. An engineered body with a motor in place of a heart. 

Maybe that’s why he failed to make the right decision, he had no heart to weigh in on the ruling. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The android is faced with a new dilemma. 

 From the entrance of the kitchen, Alhaitham watches you. A spoon absentmindedly swirling in the cup of coffee on the counter in front of you. Your thoughts wander elsewhere, the rays of a setting sun unable to light up dull spaced-out eyes.

He’s observed your condition for the past week, no hint of improvement. 

A new dilemma he must decipher, the urgency rising with each passing second as the spoon continues. 

The lull of the evening air was shattered by the sound of a porcelain cup meeting the tiled floor. Jagged pieces and coffee spilled all along the cold surface. Listlessly your eyes move to access the mess on the floor, spoon still grasped in your hand. 

“Ah.” That was all your lips could say. 

Limbs slowed with lethargy, you crouch down closer to the broken pieces scattered about. Bare hand reaching out to grab the sharp edges unthinkingly. A firm grasp prevents your touch from the ragged porcelain. 

“It’s dangerous, I’ll handle it.” Alhaitham brings your hand further away from the hazard. 

Your aloof eyes trail past him toward a wall where he could hear a clock tick before they returned to his resolute stare. 

“It’s past 5 p.m.” 

“A hazard has appeared in the environment, it’s protocol that I clear it.” His rehearsed response. 

“Oh… alright.” Limplessness returning to your wrist within his hold, body too lethargic to object. 

With you seated at the kitchen table away from the jagged edges that could potentially pierce your skin, Alhaitham begins gathering the pieces. As your aloof eyes wander about the monitor of your laptop, his mind ponders a dilemma. 

It’s often said that guilt is held in the heart. In novels and human anecdotes, it's been described to him as a burdensome heaviness that sinks the heart.

A sensation reminiscent of drowning in icy water. A sensation only perceivable through a beating mortal heart. 

Alhaitham is an android, he’s aware of this. A being with silicon skin encasing a metal frame. A motor in place of where a mortal heart would be.

So what is this weight burdening his chest? 

An internal diagnostic returned no errors and no reports of any damage or unusual occurrence within his systems. Yet, a heaviness brewed deep inside his chest, its mass increasing each sunrise and fall, with every passing moment the riddle was left unanswered. 

How could a motor hold guilt? How could the weight of judgment manifest itself in the absence of an organic heart that beats instead of whirs? How could an inorganic object possibly suffer guilt?

All the mora poured into his creation, all the hours of research contributed to his algorithms, and all the texts he’s scanned through were all for naught. The pinnacle of scientific and mechanical development couldn’t solve a simple conundrum.

The floorboard creaks under the weight of his steady strides as he moves about the corridor, the soft swishes of a broom coinciding with each step.

Dust had begun to settle in the crevices of the home, it’s about time that he took up the mantle that was supposed to be his. 

Could an explanation of this weight be the backlog of tasks and responsibilities he had pushed off? Chores he ignored in favor of browsing the contents of a library? A burden he selfishly passed onto your shoulders.

Maybe after he completes the tasks that were supposed to be assigned to him he could clear the cache, then this weight in his chest would subside. 

The bristles of the broom scratch against a door, the light force setting the frame ajar further. Revealing the dust-coated scene in front of him. A boundary he was restricted from.

Alhaitham concluded that this small corner of the house must hold some sentimental value to you, thus it’s best for him to not disturb it. 

Just as he goes to close the door, Alhaitham scans around the environment identifying the shape of a journal tucked away under an old table.

He’s not permitted to enter, but all books belong in the library. Spines sorted along wooden selves, not on a dusty floor.

An exception shall be granted, setting aside the broom, he steps in to collect the neglected book. 

While crouching down and gathering the covers into his hold, a different gleam catches his eye. The light reflects off its glass surface and highlights the dust particles dancing in the still air.

With his free hand, he picks it up, teal eyes running along the glass orb. After a moment of processing the object, he successfully identifies it as a toy.

A popular model to display an artificial starry night among blank walls. Alhaitham turns to follow a trail of cut-out stars pasted all along the walls. The soft glow of their plastic shapes subdued by the brilliance of the afternoon sun streaming in. 

Were you interested in stars? Glancing out the window, he discerns the murky shapes of buildings in Sumeru City off in the distance. 

This house is located in the suburbs away from the noisy clammer of the city streets and traffic. However, where the sound waves couldn’t travel didn’t mean the sky around this quiet neighborhood was uncontaminated by activities in the city.

When the sun retreats away for rest, the city doesn’t follow suit.

Through the power of fluorescent lights in street lamps and office buildings, humans created their own artificial daylight to continue the bustle of their lives. Light which polluted the night sky and stole the radiance away from her stars. 

Unable to enjoy the natural tapestry of the night, did you substitute the company of stars with toy imitations?

Turning the orb in his hand, his eyes notice the signs of damage along the projector. Perhaps that’s why it sat abandoned in this room.

He’s stayed in this restricted space long enough. Carefully closing the door behind him, hands still full. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ve uncovered a strange object, my software isn’t able to identify it.” Alhaitham stands just outside the open office door. 

Sparing him a glance away from your monitor, your brows pinched together in confusion at his sudden report during the late hours of the night. 

“A strange object?” You inquire again. 

“Yes, I’ve scanned over it a few times but no results are returning.” 

“Huh…” 

Teals watching you press a finger against your pursed lips in concentration. A habit of yours often displayed when amid contemplation. After a few breaths, your eyes meet his as you give your reply. 

“Well, where is this object?” 

“Come with me.” 

Along the wooden floor, two pairs of steps tap rhythmically in time with one another as they traverse the hallway stopping at the living room where the mysterious object resides.

Approaching the coffee table in the center, Alhaitham steps to the side to present it as it sits upon the polished surface. 

“This… is what’s been giving your software issues?” The quirk returned to your brow as you cast him a glance. 

Alhaitham simply nobs as you approach the object closer. Kneeling beside it, your eyes examine the familiar device. 

“It’s a planetarium projector, it projects the scene of a night sky, in other words: just a toy.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, carefully treading toward the light switch in the corner as the toy holds the gaze of your eyes. 

“It should be thrown away… It’s broken after all.” Your tone dismissive, yet your hand caresses the broken toy with tenderness. 

“It’s not,” he replies. 

Perking your head up, you turn to face him with that same furrow between your brows. 

“What do you mean, Alhaitham-”

He flicks the switch, plunging the room in a blanket of darkness earning a squeak of surprise from you. The device whirs as it awakens, painting the blank tapestry with a scene of the night sky with its shimmering lights.

The vibrant shapes of stars and planets take their place along the living room wall, creating a private galaxy that surrounds you. 

Your sentence remains unfinished upon your tongue as your eyes take in the display encompassing you. The nostalgic glimmer of the night and her stars twinkle in the reflection of your irises as he settles down beside you. 

“Did… did you fix it?”

He hums in response. 

It only took a bit of study and careful tinkering to restore the worn pieces and gears. A simple effort was all it took to allow the projector to shine its recreation of the stars. Returning a light that he hasn’t seen in a while. 

“Thank you, Alhaitham,” you breathe out, lips curling up softly and eyes still enraptured by the stars. 

He doesn’t respond this time as his teal gaze focuses on your expression, on the smile that’s been missing for some time. It’s strange, this sensation manifesting in his chest. He thought if he was able to restore the light to your eyes, then that heaviness brewed deep inside his chest would clear. But it remained. 

His system unable to express nor suppress the heaviness which bubbled up like seafoam rising to the surface.

The sensation was different than it was before. Instead of a mass that weighed him down to the bottom of a cold depth, it was more reminiscent of a warm ebb. Washing over every limb of his as he studied the curvature of your lips and the glimmer of your eyes. 

Another internal diagnostic wasn’t necessary, for Alhaitham had reached his epiphany to a conundrum. An engineered body may lack a heart, but not a conscious.

A consciousness that acts like a vessel collecting the accumulation of that heaviness. A heaviness that couldn’t be called ‘guilt’. 

No, perhaps it has always been something other than ‘guilt’.

It only took until the vessel overflowed for an engineered body to recognize it for what it truly was.

There’s something strange happening to your Android. Reviewing the diagnostic reports of his systems returned nothing out of the ordinary. So why did you suspect something to be wrong? Perhaps you could call it intuition. 

Or perhaps it’s the lack of books strewn about the house. Or the initiation of tasks without a prompt. Or that night a living room was filled with the radiance of tiny dots along empty walls. Something strange is happening. 

“Alhaitham, what’s taking you so long in the kitchen?” You poke your head out from the kitchen doorway, sights honing in on your android currently scrutinizing the recipe book in his hands. 

Perhaps there’s a defect in the print, if the black ink isn’t contrasting enough with the beige paper, which time has faded, it does cause issues with optical character recognition. Maybe the past splatters of sauces and oils upon the aged book were too much of a hurdle.

“Chef Mao is a renowned cook, but his recipes are vague. He suggests a pinch of salt to enhance the flavor of this dish. I’ve calculated that Chef Mao has a 19.3 cm hand length which entails that his ‘pinches’ measure around 0.356 grams. However, he said to add Jueyun Chili oil until fragrant, I’m still processing the data I’ve collected on his olfactory system, the calculations will take around five minutes.” He turns back to the stove.

“Alhaitham.”

“Yes?”

“Please put down the book and get out of the kitchen.” A bold choice of words from you.

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” His teal eyes land on you. 

“It’s just that I’m hungry.” 

“This dish should be complete in around 90 minutes accounting for the other-”

“No,” you interrupt. 

He studies you for a while, accessing the situation and the unfinished dish still simmering on the stove. After a few breaths, he returns a response. 

“Shall I order delivery from Lambad’s Tavern?” His hand switches off the fire.

He conceded. The notoriously stubborn and fickle android conceded to your whims. There was definitely something wrong. You pace into the kitchen, getting close to observe his teal irises for any sign of possible flaws. 

“Alhaitham, you’ve been behaving strangely as of late, did you encounter something?” 

He returns your gaze, teal reflecting off your irises as you continue to study him, and him you. His silence only amounts to the deepening furrow between your brows as your assessment of his frame fails to identify any impairments. 

“Why have you been behaving like this?” You prompt again. 

“Have I neglected my responsibilities for so long that fulfilling them has become a cause for concern?” He finally responds. 

“Now’s not the time for jests,” you huff. 

“From what I’ve reviewed on human behavior, it’s not strange to want to care for the person I love.” A blunt statement. 

From the window, the moonlight peeks upon the strange phenomenon occurring. Two bodies remain motionless in a silent lull.

One pair of placate teal eyes and one pair of bewildered eyes too lost in each other to mind the witness intruding on this private moment. Words finally conquer in your brain, ending the quietude.

“Refrain from saying nonsensical words.” Your lips press together into a thin line. 

“Do you believe such a thing is beyond my capabilities?” 

You couldn’t respond, or more accurately, you simply didn’t know how to. A being without a heart, a being who lacked the necessary chemicals to create the cocktail known as emotions. How is it possible? 

“I have no heart, I’m aware. But I have a conscience.” He must’ve deduced the exact thoughts racing through your head. 

Your brows only furrow further as you wait for him to continue his explanation.

“Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.” Taking note of the glistening shine beginning to pool in your wide eyes. 

“And I believe that I love you.” His sincere gaze never leaves your form. 

Not a single sentence is able to form upon your tongue. An expression he couldn’t decipher upon your features. Perhaps his statement was too long-winded, an overly complicated explanation. Maybe a simpler one could convey his message better. 

You’re the first to break eye contact, choosing to watch the tiles on the floor over him. He remains firm in his stance, not faltering once as the seconds turn into minutes. Your shoulders rise as your lungs take a deep breath. 

“… say that again… please.” Words just barely above a whisper.

He could only bend to your whims. 

“I love you.”

Your head lifts up to face him, your hands hesitating momentarily as they cup his cool cheeks, fingers trembling. Something glimmering in your eyes as droplets escape your lashes.

This time, Alhaitham wipes them away before they could trail down your cheeks. 

You did it. All those long hours, all those reports and trials, all of these years sacrificed to research. You’ve created a complete human consciousness with your bare hands. One that understands sorrow, joy, and love.

You succeeded. 

However, in this moment as you peer into the teal eyes of your Magnum opus, as he reflects the endearment in your own. The notion of reporting this revolutionary milestone in the development of artificial intelligence never crossed your mind once. 

Instead, all you did in this moment was pull his face down closer. Closing the distance between the two of you as your lips felt his for the first time. Warm skin against a soft imitation, merging until a lukewarm temperature formed between their touch.

A gentle, yet longing connection of two lips. 

Only when your lungs protest for air did you pull away, hands still encompassing his face as he reveals his teal eyes back from behind closed lids. Eyes reflecting one another as a tender lull settles between you. This time, his whisper mingles with the soft intermission. 

“Was that a kiss?” 

Such an innocent question, one you couldn’t help but giggle at as you nod your head.

“Could you show me again?” His hands found purchase on your hips, beckoning you closer to his frame. 

You surrender to the call, pressing against him as your lips reconnect. A rhythm soon settled in place as they pressed into each other deeper. One that was interrupted once more by your lung's protest for oxygen. At a mere kiss, your mind ceased to remember how to breathe. 

“Again.” A baritone voice just above the hush of your pants.

And so your lips meet thrice, this time in an all-consuming embrace. A hesitant brush of a tongue against your lips, requesting access. Your hands move up to caress his soft locks as you grant it. Latching onto each other as the shroud consumed you both wholly.

A beautifully feverish delirium. The line in the sand that separated a person from a thing jumbled until the outline disappeared. A singularity, an amorous occurrence. 

He releases your lips, the lust in your eyes reflected in his own. Giving a moment for your mind to return to attention as his lips brush away the fading traces of wetness down your cheeks. 

“A kitchen isn’t a suitable setting for such an activity,” he whispers next to your ear. 

Baritone trailing a line of goosebumps up your neck and you nod in response, burying your face into the crook of his neck which fit you perfectly.

Slowly his hands travel down your hips, awaiting your confirmation for the next step just as you permitted it. In one fluid transition, his arm wraps around the back of your legs, effortlessly lifting you off the ground as your arms envelop his neck. 

Steady steps pad along a wooden hallway, the hinges of your bedroom singing their welcome as the two of you advance to a more suitable setting. Depositing you upon cool sheets, fabric wrinkling as your body settles in. The arms still wrapped around his neck pull him closer as this time your legs join in luring him closer to your warmth. 

It’s strange, is it possible for his lips to crave yours? The light of the moon reflected off the glossiness coating them. He delves back in as his body hovers over yours, unwilling to be apart from the softness it yearned for.

The soft flesh of your writhing body against his firm hands, feeling up your heated skin he slips under your shirt. Bunching up the fabric as he explores more of the new expanse of skin. A lovely whimper vibrates against his lips at his actions, spurring him to continue. 

Tracing over the outline of your bra, his fingers creep under. Kneading the plushness of your breast, feeling your nipple beginning to perk up against his ministration. An itch stretching from the pits of his desire, a curious craving to witness the sight concealed away.

Disjoining your lips as a string of saliva connects them, he pushes your shirt further up. All the while your hands grasp onto the edges of the fabric and push them back down. Bemusing his beryl eyes as they catch how the tips of your ears were aflame, a peculiar display of bashfulness. 

Well, a sight he’s witnessed on a few occasions. Such as when you’d leave the shower wrapped in a towel just to cross paths with him. A timidity that gradually faded away as you grew more confident in the privacy restrictions in place, ensuring that the secrets of this home remained in the confines of its walls.

So why is this shyness making its reappearance now?

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” His words ghost over the shell of your vulnerable ear. 

Causing you to jolt and pull down the edges of your shirt to cover the bottom of your loungewear shorts. 

“No, it’s just been a while…” Your sentence trails off, eyes still focusing everywhere but him. 

Ah, a mere string of words, yet they tempted something from the depths. An oppressive sentiment, one that made the grip upon your soft flesh grow firmer. He’s yet to have accessed the entirety of your figure, a view still denied to him by your taut shirt, but another entity had. 

There was a myriad of questions he could use to interrogate. However, as his teal gaze observe how your teeth lightly tug at the bottom of your plush lips in fidgety. Alhaitham devises a much kinder scheme. 

It’s fine, he can overwrite them with his touches. 

“What can I do to gain permission?” A question asked as a line of kisses press their way into your fervent skin, goosebumps following each one. 

Biting down to muffle the bashful moans into whimpers you burrow your face into the plushness of the pillow. Alhaitham continues to soothe kisses over the fabric of your shirt until they finally reach your quivering hands still stretching the hem.

His hand encloses one of yours, bringing it away from the fabric refuge to press his lips against your knuckle. An action that made you peak back at him, meeting a patient gaze awaiting you. 

Another soft press of his lips against your knuckle in silent request, at last, got you to release the hem, allowing him to push the fabric up to expose what was hidden from him. Permitting him to explore the sultry expanses with a wake of kisses, your hand finding reprieve entangling themselves with his. 

His free hand slipping behind your back, he unfastens the clasp of your bra with a slight tug, a relatively simple task when you learn how such a contraption works.

His grasp untangles from yours as he pushes the useless articles of clothing off your body, you raise your arms over your head to aid in the process.

He rewards you with another flurry of kisses in the valley of your breast as his large hands encase the softness of your breast. A motion that made your legs pull him closer. 

Your touches dance along his frame as well, unable to differentiate the difference between skin and a recreation. More whimpers leave your lips at his actions, prodding something in him to do more. To steal more of those sinful breaths from you, something in his coding thirsting for more.

Sliding his hands back down the curves of your body, he hooks his fingers over the rim of your shorts and panties pulling them down. Glass eyes zeroing in on the glistening thread that linked your panties and slit. Proof of arousal, your body awakening its cardinal impulses.

Could the signals transmitted through his system be classified in the same way?

He wants to investigate further. Moving his face lower to inspect the saturated folds that beckoned him. 

Only to be denied by the gates of your knees pressing together, as your body curls up in fortification. Denying him the privilege of satiating his curiosity is like denying a man water in an ocean of sand. Evaluating how your eyes were squeezed together in shame, he had foresaw this.

“Mmm, there seems to be an incongruity, do you want me to stop?” Large hands grasping at your plush thighs, but making no move to part them. 

Your head responds with a shake, but your knees still locked together. Your attention centering on him bashfully. 

“Then guide me, tell me how to please you,” he proposes hands soothing your tense legs.

Utilizing the skill he had accessed a few moments ago once more, gracing your skin with his lips awaiting your response. The tension in your legs loosens with each kiss, and gradually a fissure forms in the barrier of your defense, knees parting.

However, he doesn’t cross the threshold, no, he restrained himself from indulging too soon. Half-ladden eyes peering up to connect with yours. 

“Well, tell me. What do you want me to do?” 

A pout makes its appearance on your face, but what could you do? It is your responsibility to shepherd him since the beginning, to have him step over the line dividing an android and man. Best to take on your duty, no?

Parting your legs further, cheeks ablaze and eyes adverted as you allow his teal gaze to absorb the uninterrupted view of your dripping arousal. Your hands aiding as they thwart the urge of your bashful legs’s urge to preserve your dignity. 

“Please use your mouth and hands,” you prompt, face pressing deeper into one side of a pillow under his stare.

Alhaitham encroaches closer to your glistening folds, his large hands supporting each one of your thighs. Approaching the details of your honeypot in front of him, concentrating on the little nub which lures him closer. He presses a light peck against the nub as your body flinches. 

“Like this?” 

Plush lips pressed tightly, you respond with timid shakes. 

Returning back, his lips delving deeper this time, an audible pop when he pulls away from your taunted clit. Feeling the muscles tighten in your legs. 

“Like that?” Mirth leaked through his baritone words. 

Your head shakes with more vigor. 

“Then how about this?” This time his tongue takes action, dipping into the center of your honeypot before flicking up at your nub. 

You return a restrained moan, teal eyes picking up on the twitch of your folds. It seems that he’s uncovered the proper procedures. Peering up from between your legs at the harsh rises of your chest by rush breaths as your eyes remained sealed behind lashes, he decided to impart some mercy. Taking the initiative to shoulder a bit of your duty. 

Retracing his steps, his tongue repeating its previous motions of lapping up the nectar that slipped out from your folds. Always ending each strip up your slit with a flick to your sensitive nub.

Your hands abandon their post in favor of snaring themselves in his ashen trestles as your back begins to arch off the sheets. Thighs beginning to enclose around his head, yet it didn’t deter the vigor in his motions one bit. 

If anything, it spurred them on. The added pressure of your legs pulling him against your weeping folds assisted him in his quest. Testing which pattern made your body quiver, calculating the pace of his tongue's flicks made your hips buck up.

Alhaitham takes notice of how your greedy hole seems to be clenching down every time a tongue dipped in, you did request for his mouth and fingers after all. 

A finger begins to prod at your entrance, coating itself in the overflowing slick as it traces the puckering entry. Your whines increase in volume as your greed escalates, legs locking around him. Thus, he yields to your neediness, filling your lonely walls with the company of his finger.

Thrusting it in time with his licks as he rubs against the slick muscles. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers grounding themselves in the tangles of his hair as if trying to hold on to a shred of reason. 

His interest has been greatly piqued, he wanted to see what it would look like. He wants to see what your expression looks like when you fall into the depths of debauchery. You’d permit him such privileges right? After all, curiosity is what defines the human spirit. 

A second finger soon joins in, its thickness stretching and prepping your walls, cultivating your arousal into a rapacious hunger.

Articulate tongue now focused on abusing your clit in the swipes of sweet torture, lips encasing around it to provide some suction. Fingers honing in on relocating the weakness deep within you which made your voice peak and tremble.  

He could hear the harshness of your panting breath between each escalating moan, how your walls squeezed and sucked his fingers deeper. Teal gaze never once ceased their evaluation of your face. Making sure to appraise each lewd detail of your impending ecstasy. 

It’s impossible to stand at the apex of euphoria forever, no, for gravity will always pull you back down. A pivotal moment in time as the forces tugged down at you as you fell, losing your shame and sanity along the way.

A fall from grace which etches itself in the roll of your eye and vulgar expression, caused by the tempest of pleasure seeps into every fiber of your being as you plummeted down into the ocean of rapture. 

The fingers intertwined in his hair pulling his face flushed against your pulsing cunt. Even with your mind fractured by orgasmic bliss your body still reacts to each lap of his tongue as he manages the slick aftermath. Fingers stroking your sweet spot through each contraction of your walls. 

“Nng!” A feeble push against his ashen locks, your abused clit crying for a moment of reprieve. 

Oh? It seems your consciousness returned faster than he expected. With a resounding pop, he grants your overstimulated nerves a moment to recover. Allowing the traces of your nectar to dribble down his chin. Taking this moment to verify the effectiveness of his scheme.

The air dense with the fragrance of lust, lips red from the abuse of your teeth, mouth agape as your lungs gasp tongue almost lulling out. 

An absolutely debauched face, a sight which brought the corners of his lips to curl. 

Counting the beads of sweat that lingered on your skin, his rationale urged him to swipe them off to prevent a chill from plaguing you. Withdrawing away from your form he plans his destination to the bath to retrieve a towel, only for a smaller hand to snag him in its hold. 

Alhaitham turns back to face you, awaiting your next prompt. However, your bitten lips couldn’t muster up the courage to utter the plea it so desperately wanted. Thus, your eyes connect with his, praying that a slow blink could convey the invocation your voice couldn’t. 

Standing there as a few breaths pass, the teal glow of his irises indicates his deduction of what your eyes conveyed. Ah yes, the passionate entanglement experience just a moment before could be classified as ‘foreplay’. The appetizer to the main event.

So your appetite has yet to be satiated, evident from how your thighs pressed against each other in an attempt to quell the ache. How could he leave a task undone? 

“Show me what you desire,” he instructs. 

Hesitantly, your hands encroach closer to the rim of his slacks. Your every action observed by him. Resting your palms against the outline of a zipper, you glance up to seek confirmation, he grants it.

You undo the button at the top before pulling the zipper down. Allowing for you to shimmy his briefs and slacks down to the floor. Revealing to the world, with the moon as your witness, every intricate detail placed into his engineered body. 

It felt so foreign in your hands. Encircling your fingers around his girth, tracing over the bumps of each vein. Amid your admiration, his body overtook yours. Pinning you back against the damp sheets. It seems you were very interested in this feature of his, perhaps it was the cure for the yearning between your writhing legs. 

Your legs splayed to either side of his hips, a clear path to your greed. His hand spreads your collected slick along his length. Its bulbous tip presses against your quivering entrance. Meeting your half-lidden eyes, he awaits your permission. Thus, you captured his lips into another kiss, just as the tip breaches the threshold of your entrance.

Finally giving your aching walls the delicious stretch it craved. A moan resonates between connected lips, your eyes beginning to roll back as he sinks deeper and deeper, obscene squelches following each inch. 

Thick tip pressed up against the deepest parts of you as he bottoms out, your hands finding refuge along his back. Breaking the lock of your lips, Alhaitham lifts cants his head up to take in the scene under him.

Hovering over your panting form, his body caging you against the wrinkled fabric, feeling your unseemly breaths against his skin. A teal glow reflected in the lust-hazed pools of your eyes.

He understands now, why so many poets lost their minds, trying their whole lives to find the words to chronicle the sight laid out before him along messy sheets. 

Under his tense study, your fingers lightly claw at the smooth expanse of his back. A soundless prayer to quell the famine, your gummy walls coaxing around his cock with its embrace. 

“Haitham,” you mewl. 

Not even the greatest saint could deny your request, he wagers they’d gladly walk through the gates of damnation just for a morsel of you. 

Rolling his hips back, he drags his girth along the walls of your greed ensuring that they feel the outline of every vein. Feeling the cool air brush against the slick dripping off his length, only the bulbous tip remained in the clutches of your cunt.

A muffled whine of protest from you interrupted as he sunk back in, accompanied by a filthy squelch. 

Robust hands encompass the edges of your waist, he repeats the roll of his hips. Feeling the tightening clutches of your core, croons falling off your tongue with each toing and froing.

What symphonies could he draw from those agape lips of yours?

He wants to witness the sinful hymns of your voice as you are overtaken by the throes of pleasure. Perhaps he should conduct an experiment of his own. Through the raunchy air, a clap pierces the leaden veil, your plush hips pressed flush against his anchored ones, a thrust that seared your nerves and curled your toes. 

“Ah!” Moan ripped from your throat. 

Yes, that’s the amplitude he wants to discern with his ears.

Continue to sing in that octave. It’s as if pulled by the reins of sin, he finds himself experiencing hunger for the first time, fixating on tearing more of those chants from you. He drew back his hips then forced them back in deeper. A wail followed each rake of his cock, walls accenting each thrust with fluttering clenches. Mewls and whines resonated through the room as his firm grip didn’t slacken with each rock of the bed. 

Pace escalating and remorseless, skin clashing against skin, the heat of your writhing body scorching him. But he won’t relent, not until he’s taken what he wanted. Driving you deeper into the creaking mattress, thrusting and filling each crevice of your core. Your soft breast pinned against his solid frame. 

Your face pressed into the crook of his neck, legs imprisoned within the confines of his bruising grasp, toes painfully arched in an attempt to distribute the burn of the maddening euphoria firing through each nerve. The moans of his name like a prayer of salvation, a chant for every punishing strike against your deepest weakness. Your fingers now clawing against his durable back for a foothold for your fleeing sanity. You feared that this time, it might not return to you. 

Oddly, a voice from the rearmost corner of your mind whispered for you to relinquish it. Trade in rationale, sensibility, and morals for absolute ecstasy. Your teeth had already sunk into the apple, its juices dribbling down the corners of your mouth. Why not swallow it down? Get drunk off the wet claps of skin, the grind of his muscular torso against your stimulated clit, the slams of his girthy cock and thick tip. Why deny yourself from the euphoria robbed from you for so long?

So you concede to its beckoning, swallowing down the last wisp of sanity until it drowned in the maddening abuse of your sweet spot from his pistoning hips. Granting you entry to true pleasure as the knot in your core unravels. Backing arching off the mattress, mending the fibers of your being impossibly close to his. Head thrown back against a ruffled pillow as a long shameless wail erupts from your trembling lips. Lost in the tides of rapture. 

Alhaitham’s body stills as his ears digest the beautiful aria of your undoing. Feeling your slick and warm walls contract all around his cock. Milking him for every last speck of gratification he could offer you. 

A moment couldn’t be classified as a simple impulse for procreation. No, he believed it went beyond the lust hanging in the air. An indescribable urge to mend your bodies as close as possible, to becoming wholly one with one another. The thump of your heartbeat against the whir of a motor as they merge into a mantra. 

Is this why humans crave physical intimacy? 

Watching your loose face tremor and your teary eyes roll back. A painting no muse besides you could ever inspire. Leaning down, his lips brush away the glistening trails down your supple cheeks. Coaxing you through the throes of your orgasmic shudders. Until the light of consciousness returns to your half-lidden eyes. 

The limitations of the human body expose themselves in the limpness of your limbs, unable muscles unable to budge besides the twitching aftershocks of bliss. Unable to fight against the weight of your eyelids for the first time in a while. You sink into the lull of slumber. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere amid the driftless darkness a sensation brushes against your skin. Causing your lashes to pry open just ever so slightly, blurry shapes merging gradually to form the outline of a man. One who’s tendering wiping a soft towel over the sweat drops littering your skin. The soft glow of his emerald gem illuminated the devotion of his crafted face. You wonder where he learned about such practices after the rite of sex. Did he pull it from the Akasha? The internet? Or maybe from a book hidden along the shelves of a private library. 

You couldn’t stifle the giggle roused from your musing. Alerting him as his hands halt. 

“Did I wake you?” Baritone voice hushed. 

Face still pressed into a pillow you shake your head, hair messy and a smile spreading across your soft features. 

“Just musing to myself where you learned such things,” you giggle. 

“This is typical behavior of lovers from my understanding.” Teal gaze observed the widening of your eyes which reflected him. 

Perhaps he made too great of an assumption. Back in the margins of a kitchen, it was only his words. It’s best to get clarification now. 

“Are we lovers?” He peers into your irises. 

The glow of the gem embedded in his chest spreads its gentle radiance over two figures through the unbuttoned window of his wrinkled button-down. Carving the shape of you and him from the shadows of the silent room. Illuminating how your wide eyes crinkle up with adoration. Fighting against the fatigue of your limbs, you lean up to press your lips against the brilliance of his gem. After the amorous kiss ended, you proceeded to lean your forehead against his. 

“You’re my lover, Alhaitham.” Your whisper ghosts over his face. 

“Understood.” His foreheads pressing against yours as he accepts his new sentience. 

The shape of your delicate fingers fitting into the space between his, intertwining as the moonlight reflects off gold and emerald. 

The sky shrouds itself in its evening gown of deep navy and luminous glimmers, all the while a bashful moon covers herself away. Perhaps she hid herself away after she witnessed a sinful scene through a gap in the curtains. A private moment heavy with passion in the air like tender caresses. 

“W-wait!” Stammering words just barely leaving your lips before another moan. 

Alhaitham pulls his tongue away as he tilts his face to peer up from between your thighs, a trail of slickness connecting his lips and your pussy. The haze of your breathless expression reflected in teal irises. 

“I-it’s t-too ah!-” A moan interrupts your protests as your head jolts back, his thumb continuing to circle your swollen clit. 

“Much? I know you can take more,” he states before returning his lips to your dripping folds, lapping up each trickle. 

He’s analyzed your body, its curves and cervices, each clench of your slick walls, and the pattern of your gasps. Skilled fingers learning the exact rhythm which made your legs tense and toes curl. Diligent tongue knowing where to tease to run shivers up your spine. 

“B-but I’ve already c-came!” Your fingers tangle themselves into his tousled locks, a feeble attempt at pushing back the maddening flicks of his tongue and cruel strokes of his thumb that shot up your fried nerves. Report long forgotten under the haze of lust and lewd slurps imbuing the room. 

And you can come again. Alhaitham has long picked up on the discrepancy between the words which fell from the same lips as those lewd sounds. Lips who couldn’t be as honest as your heaving and trembling body. Whining and writhing in his firm hold that it’s too much, yet your fingers entangle themselves deep in silver tresses pulling his impatient tongue deeper between your folds. 

From the shivers racking through your trembling thighs, he anticipates another orgasm. However, the unholy cries have ceased. Intent eyes glancing up to uncover the causal factor, those naughty plush lips of yours pressing themselves shut. Crueling sealing away those ethereal harmonies from him. 

Alas, just a small inconvenience doesn’t deter him. If those lips were the only barrier barring him from the privilege of hearing his deserved moans, then he’d simply make them crumble. Replacing his thumb with his lips, Alhaitham suckles on the swollen nub as your body jerks up.

Grip imprinting his fingers into your skin as they stop your pitiful attempts at locking out from heaven. The heaving of your chest jostling around your perked breast as they meet the cool night air. 

His tongue teases and rolls your overstimulated clit around as his lips imprison it, a sweet torture. Your thrashes unable to prevent your head from going under the depths of pleasure. Thighs compressing around his face as they grow taut, hips bucking themselves against his relentless mouth, back lifting off the mattress as your final defenses crumble along with your sanity. 

 Limpness seeps into your now heavy limbs as your body returns to the mattress, but your eyes haven’t quite returned from seeing the back of your head. Still in the throes of cloud nine as his diligent tongue collects all your leaking nectar. The aftershocks of your orgasm force gasps and whimpers from your quivering lips. 

To comfort your abused clit he places a tender kiss against it, a flinch in your hip resulting from the gesture. Alhaitham pulls away, eyes scanning the repercussions of his operation. Your chest steadily rises and falls as panting lungs find air again.

The rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin gradually disappears behind your drooping eyelids. Lashes slowly fluttering closed. 

Glancing at the numbers displayed on a nearby clock, Alhaitham deems tonight a success as well. While the primary purpose of intercourse might be for reproduction, sex has additional benefits. One of them being an orgasm’s ability to decrease stress, resulting in the production of more melatonin. The chemical that’s making you burrow further in your pillow. A tactic he’s learned to exploit these past months. Well, he’s your lover now, it’s within his authorization to do such. 

Carefully he slides your panties back up your legs, securing them on your hips as he trails a few touches along your soft skin. Following it up by pulling the covers over your frame, smoothing out a few wrinkles as your chest steadily moves up and down. 

Just as he steps one foot away from the bed, a warmth encircles his wrist. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed too?” 

An artificial body needs no downtime under soft covers. Plush pillows and sheets serve no purpose to him. Yet, it’s a simple request. How could he reject it when it came from your pouting lips? 

“In a moment, I need to return to my port first.” 

The throes of slumber’s hold creeping upon you as your lashes fight to flutter open. With a soft hum, you release your hold.

His battery percentage was fine, but it was just for system maintenance. It’s strange how unfamiliar a room can feel after spending his nights by your side. Staring at the glass surface of his charging port, he wonders, in the future will there be a way for him to not leave your side even for a moment? 

His dilemma remains. He’s got all the characteristics of a human. He’s developed a consciousness, he’s developed empathy, he’s developed love. Is his engineer body the only thing which stood in his way of obtaining humanity?

Is it possible for him to grasp onto humanity with his own mechanical fingers? A soft thud returns him to reality. Observant eyes caught the book that his foot had knocked into. Its worn cover has been lying abandoned on the floor ever since he took it from a dusty room. 

Ah, it seems like he’s forgotten a task. Realistically, it won’t make a difference whether the book settles on a shelf tonight or in the morning. However, he never got a chance to read the journal’s contents. Curiosity being his rationale for performing a chore so late at night. 

Flipping through the aged parchment, his eyes scan through each neatly written paragraph. Nothing more than a simple collection of ramblings and theoretical reflections typical of a journal.

Yet, something was poking the back of his consciousness, like the warning rattle of a locked door. Beseeching that it remains sealed. His eyes move to the next sentence regardless.

To ignore the pleas of safety to venture closer to the radiance of a star. Isn’t that what it means to be human? Is this what he must do to become one?

To achieve this impossible task, it sounds like you'll need to fool your own heart first. Although it may feel like a trick, self-encouragement may be the most important tool we have.

Alhaitham scans the paragraph again as he contemplates the message neatly written. Something unpleasant roused in his chest, as if those written words had encroached too close to his motor. The urge to frown tugs on his lips.

Not wanting to end the night with a bitter taste just at the edge of his tongue, he flips to another page. Covering that vexatious sentence behind a fresh sheet of aged parchment. 

One must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

It’s quite straightforward advice, humans and androids alike would understand. Yet that strange inkling remained, continuing to brew somewhere from within. A phenomenon he couldn’t pinpoint. Thus, he turns the page yet again. 

Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.

He recognizes those words, they’re words he’s recited before you one pivotal sometime ago. Why were they scrawled in some forgotten journal? It seems that he’s identified the name of this phenomenon brewing within him: deja vu. 

Yet, his question only remains half-answered. Why were his words here? Who penned them down? The rapid flicks of paper resound off the blank walls as he scrutinizes each sentence, each paragraph, each syntax until he reaches the back cover of the aged journal. Question still remaining half answered.

Who was the author of his words? 

His finger runs into a lump along the surface of the back cover, examining it closer, something was folded away just behind a parchment pocket. Soon a loose scrap of paper was felt along his fingertips, a folded-up post-it note of an emerald hue. Unraveling it just slightly, his eyes move along the familiar handwriting. 

To the person who’s always meddling through my notes, did my written thoughts entertain you? Dear w-

The emerald scrap crumples in his hold. Deformed paper returns to its place before he snaps the covers closed. There’s no purpose in analyzing its contents, after all, they’re already programmed into him.

It was just now in this moment that Alhaitham had solved the dilemma he was assigned since the moment he awoke in that lab. He’s not a human, he’ll never be a human, he’s an abomination. 

In the next moment, he found himself looming over the origin of his dilemma. Artificial teal glow honing in upon the steady breaths from the genesis of abomination. Standing over you as you were cradled in the comfort of slumber and soft sheets. 

A pair of taut hands make their way to encircle your frangible neck. It wouldn’t take much, just a mere second to terminate the great sinner who defied mortality, the one who violated the terms of finality and ordinance of the gods.

So this is what you choose to do with the capacity of science and progress in your hands. 

Was he just a toy for you? Something to fill the lull of this house for you? Just an experiment for you, but everything to him. 

His fingers press into your warm skin, breaths uninterrupted as you remain within the blessing of a dream. Oblivious to the nightmare you’ve created. Or perhaps you were always aware, but choose to reflect back to him the manufactured image of him in those guiltless irises of yours.

Oh, what should he do with the monster sleeping so soundly under him? 

His fingers refused to budge, hands disobeying the rationale which commanded them. His grip goes slack, limp for they couldn’t conclude their obligation. They couldn’t, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

It’s not a protocol, nor a restriction coded into him. No, for the laws of morality, this land, and heaven would’ve called for him to be an executioner. To charge the transgressor with the judgment they deserved. But, he couldn’t.

Every fiber of his counterfeit body refused to take the sword. The chains which bind his hands were much mightier than the commandments of gods, the restraints of love. 

Thus, he’s nothing more than a prisoner in its hold. Bending to its whims, what else could he do? Removing his hands from your form as you continue to soundly sigh in the embrace of slumber. All he could do was lie down on a soft mattress and stare at the shameless sinner beside him.

A foolishly beloved monster. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely steps. Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

“There you are, Alhaitham.” You can’t help but sigh as your features soften. 

He stood there with his starlight locks in the morning glow of a brilliant sun amongst the collection of books in the library. Just as he always has been. 

Lifting his head away from the pages of the novel in his hand, he acknowledges your presence. He’s been heading here more often recently, right from the moment he leaves his side of the bed. 

“Good morning,” he recites, steadfast eyes remaining unreadable. 

Well, you suppose obtaining the title of a lover wouldn’t just overwrite the capriciousness of his mind. It’s just in his nature to be this way. This enigmatic lover of yours. Turning your attention to the cover that’s captured his focus. 

“Frankenstein?” Your brow quirks up. 

“Yes, the 1818 edition.” He closes the cover.

“Mmm, your interest seems quite piqued by that novel.” You wonder if that was the cause behind his frequent bouts of silent contemplation throughout the day. 

“I suppose it’s because I’m still deciphering the intentions of this story.” 

“That’s it?” A furrow now in your brows, a simple book has gotten the pinnacle of scientific progress stumped?

“Care to elaborate for me?” He turns toward you as your steps approach closer. 

Handing over the worn object to your outstretched hand, you analyze each faded corner of the cover. Mind recalling the recollections of the acclaimed revolutionary piece of science fiction. Formulating your answer, you share your conclusions with him.

“The story has several themes, but the central principle is quite defined. To quote a few words from another, scientific progress makes moral progress a necessity; for man’s power is increased, the checks that restrain him from abusing it must be strengthened.”

You reconnect your gaze with him, wondering if your explanation was satisfactory enough. Glancing down between the worn cover and your awaiting eyes, Alhaitham straightens his posture. 

“So you knew the moral of this story.” A glint in his glass eyes. 

“Well, I’ve read this book before,” you sigh at his inquest. 

“Then why didn’t you learn from it?” 

At that moment, the proud sun shielded itself away behind a cloak of clouds. Plunging the quiet library into a chill. How strange, why do you feel cold when a brilliant star of your creation stands right next to you?

“Alhaitham, you’re acting strange.” You take a step back as his scrutinizing gaze follows. Unaware of the crumbling edge approaching. 

“How much longer will you continue to deceive yourself, wife?” 

And that was it. The foundations of this mirage gave away under you, plunging you with much velocity into the depths of an unforgiving ocean. Tides that waited patiently to drag you down under.

Do you remember what happened that day? Do you really remember? The truth floods your being, engulfing every chasm of your mind. 

–----

“Did you jump at the opportunity of a trip to avoid mopping the floors?” You glared up at your husband. 

“My, how low do you think of me?” He glanced down, a wisp of mirth evident on his lips. 

“Well, instead of doing chores, you’d be chaperoning your in-laws around Fontaine. A Poor trade-off in my opinion, dear husband.” A hand firmly placed on your hip in a defiant stance as the murmur of the crowded airport moved around your figures. An ever so mocking tone toward the end.

“A fair assumption, dear wife. However, I’ve taken the initiative to book a tour for your parents, thus they won’t need my assistance. I’ll be free to browse some of the latest ruins and research from the Institute in the meantime.” The ghost of a smirk grew ever so obvious with each word, mirroring your emphasis of titles.

Ah, this was your loss. It seems that your husband had it all planned out as usual when he offered to take your spot on the plane. The perfect excuse to use up some paid time off, while also scoring a trip to satisfy his own whims. 

Your shoulders deflating in defeat as a deep sigh leaves you. You rest your head against his chest, the crowds moving around you in the bustling airport.

A private microcosm of him and you as he stands still, shielding you from the push and hustle of travelers trying to reach their terminal in time with his robust frame.

A bright clink of two rings pressed against each other lost in the noise.

“Why can’t you just stay?” You whispered into his shirt. 

“How strange, the woman who married me to secure a home and mortgage wants me to stay now.” 

You huffed into his in exasperation at him bringing up the origins of your union, an atypical start of a marriage.

His chest moved with a sigh, larger fingers intertwined with yours. The spaces fitted together, as he held them in his tender hold. 

“They can’t refund it. If I take your seat and recompensate them, your parents aren’t likely to hold this matter over your head.” His deep voice expounded. 

All you did was sigh, because he was right. Of course, he was. A sour taste on your tongue as you recall the interaction with your parents just a moment ago before you ran into the comfort of your husband. 

“Besides, it’d be refreshing for me to scribble down some travel logs, it'd be a shame if my wife runs out of material to snoop through.” 

“I just like looking at your handwriting,” you tutted, hiding your pout as you turned your face away. 

The same excuse you used whenever you copied off his notes in a lecture hall and when your outstretched hand asked for them over a study table.

A silly habit of yours, perhaps in your mind it made sense. If you could read the words of a genius, then maybe you could learn to be like one. 

“Of course, of course.” A smirk evident in his voice. 

You refused to meet his gaze, cheeks a bit heated from this habit of yours being exposed. You thought you were always careful with returning his journal back where he placed it. Averting your eyes to the bright screens displaying departing flights. A few minutes left before the announcement comes. Your grasp on his hand tightened. 

His thumb soothes your skin, leaning down closer to you. 

“Besides its advanced technology, Fontaine is also famous for its toymakers. I should pick a few up for our future child, no?” 

Blinking you as you glance back up at him. His teal irises reflect you as his expression softens just as yours did.

A room hidden away from the prying eye of nosy parents, its walls decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. An assortment of items bought in advance for a child in the future. Stemming from whispers while recovering amongst dampen sheets in a room heavy with passion. 

Talks of the future, once this troublesome Ph.D. is finished and your position in a lab secured, a discussion of whether a child would inherit more of his traits or yours.

Planned for the future, of course, now's just a bit too busy. However, it didn’t stop you from taking the initiative to furnish a spare room. A chaotic collection of cosmic influences along with an assortment of books meshing together to create an adoring space. 

But the soft smile on your lips was still tense. Teal eyes took note of that, pulling you closer amidst this microcosm, a moment so subtle it went unnoticed by the attention of passer-byers. 

“It’ll just be for a week,” his voice resonated in his chest. “Then I’ll come back and build that bassinet as my wife wishes.” 

Finally, the glimmer he yearned to see returned to your eyes. 

“You better, the box has been sitting unopened for a week now,” you huff with a smile. 

He only hummed in acknowledgment as the ring of a loudspeaker resounded through the chatter. Announcing the final call for passengers boarding the flight to the Nation of Hydro. Casting a glance toward the terminal, he gave your hand one more squeeze before they reluctantly untangled from one another. 

“You should get going now.” Your eyes reflect him. 

He hums one last time, turning in the direction of the terminal where your parents were. Just before his tall figure was lost in the sea of passing bodies, your lips couldn’t keep themselves pressed together any longer. 

“Haitham!” You called out. 

The fluorescent lights reflected off his starlight hair as he turned back around. Connect teal eyes with yours. But not another word left your lips, no they’d simply be drowned out in the clammer of strangers. Besides, it’s just too public to say such words aloud. 

Thus, you slowly close your eyes, opening them back up just as steadily with the soft curl of your lips. A motion he reciprocated with a slow blink of his own, a hint of a smile on his stoic lips. A wordless gesture kept a secret between only the two of you, a silent ‘I love you’. It was all you needed to convey this message to each other. 

He continued on his path to the terminal as you stood amongst the crowd, watching him fade into the distance. 

–----

So how did that moment turn into this? How did a trip that was supposed to only be a week turn into a news report? How did well wishes for a safe trip turn into coworkers and friends approaching you with nothing but sympathy in their words? Those vile, pitied stares directed toward your rigid frame. 

You should’ve been the one on that plane.

Only about 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

Plans no matter how intricate or detailed, their success all hang on a single thread, one factor unable to be cultivated by human hands: Luck. 

Oh how cruel they are, those capricious hands of gods. Not even the leniency of returning to a lonely planet the corpses of their stars. Traces of a beloved star left to sink and disappear in a cold, salty grave. Never to return to the surface. 

You and Alhaitham were two simple dots in this world, so why did they target you two? Why steal him from you with their cruel hands? Why steal him and leave you abandoned with nothing but the memory of the warm starlight? 

You had so…so much love left inside you. But it went stagnant. Sitting there rotting until it poisoned you, throwing you into feverish delirium. If the gods abandoned you, then you resolved to abandon them right back. 

You’ll bring back your star, you’ll defy the edicts of the gods with your bare hands. You’ll sin the same way a god does. 

“Casting aside your morals, you allowed the dead to walk again through a sham imitation, congratulations. ” His voice matched one which could only come from an engineered throat. 

This was a fool's errand.

For how could a mere human ever be arrogant enough to believe they could best the gods? This was the hindsight you lacked. Perhaps what’s separated you from the gifted and blessed geniuses? Something geniuses knew but you couldn’t see.

The accursed doctorate on the wall meant nothing, you were nothing but a mad fool. 

Perhaps, if you were a genius, a true and born genius, you’d know what to do. You’d know how to mend this dilemma. You’d know what to do instead of letting your vision be blurred by imprudent tears as your throat could only choke out,

“I’m sorry.” Words you knew couldn’t turn back the hands of a clock which only knew how to tick forward.

“But now what?” Deep voice unmoved by your wasted words. 

You didn’t dare meet his stare, for you feared you’d catch a glimpse of the bitterness behind them as he cursed you deep down in the whir of his motor. You could only stay silent as tears ignited in your eyes, waiting for him to continue with his damnation. 

“In a climate like Sumeru’s, it would take approximately 25 years or so for a body to fully decompose, bones reduced to nothing but nutrients for the soil. Silicone alone takes 500 years, a metal frame could take another 500.” He knows now that he’s not a human, he was never meant to be.

He’s a crude replacement. An abomination who’ll remain until the day the night sky flickers out. 

“You brought him back, only to condemn him to eventual loneliness. Only to curse ‘me’ to live the next aeons without you”

An irresponsible and shameless villain who disregarded consequences until those consequences came to collect their dues. It’s time that you faced your punishment.

A hand cups around your stiff face, gradually turning your head until you see your reflection along glass irises.

“How will you atone for your sins now? How will you take responsibility for making me fall in love with you?… my very own Dr. Frankenstein.” His voice restrained. 

Yes, a story you’ve read before. A lesson unfolded out in front of you, and yet you somehow forgot. Or perhaps, you simply averted your eyes from the moral of the story while simultaneously committing the same transgression. Did you think yourself better than the fictional lunatic? 

The atrocity of giving life, only to eventually abandon it, leaving it to watch the stars burn out in a cage of harsh fluorescent lights and white lab coats. 

The millions of mora poured into his development, the materials which construct his form, and the proprietary technology which gives him thought. Did you believe even for a moment that the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan would simply hand over such an investment?

To allow their expenditure to follow you to eternity?

You couldn’t live without him, but now he’ll have to live without you.

Oh, what shall you do now? Oh, what can you do now? Did you even know where to begin? How did the story of Frankenstein end? How would she have written the ending of this scene?

When human rational meets its limits, when its capacity isn’t enough to compute all possible prospects. Humans look towards something that could, technological advancements made to further humanity. 

“W-what do I do now?” You prompt, no, you beg. 

Watching the rivulets roll down your cheeks, leaving a path of glimmering desperation, he ponders to himself:

When you first proposed this project to the Akademiya and Institute, when you detailed the specifications of his body and face, were they aware of your true intentions?

Rather than this being an experiment to see if an android could cross the threshold of humanity. Maybe those researchers were curious to see how far one could fall in the paroxysm of grief. 

You became the perfect test subject to observe.

But now that the curtains were pulled back, what shall you do about the aftermath? There was never a precedent for a transgression of this scale. No holy commandment ever details a rightful punishment for this sin. No historical data he could infer from. 

“I don’t know,” he answers you truthfully. 

It’s just an untold void like the vacuums of space. No results generated in his mind, leaving the both of you suspended in oblivion. Maybe that was the punishment in itself, stuck in the purgatory of the unknown. Perhaps this was the punishment bestowed upon a foolish sinner. 

Upon hearing your sentencing, your knees begin to buckle under the weight of the judgment from above. Resigned grasp clinging to his hand still cradling your face, his engineered frame not budging in the slightest. Voice staggered as only pitiful and broken apologies resonate in a vacant house. 

All he could do was wipe those scorching droplets off your cheeks as they seared his skin. Was this feature also programmed into him by your hands? If so, then he muses to himself:

Did the hands who penned down those words also revert into nothing more than a pathetic fool at the mere sight of your tears? Did his chest also grow heavier with each choked sob that left you?

Perhaps the chains which bind his hands tethered yours just the same. A pair of foolish sinners. 

Thus, he’s resolved himself to be thrown into the unmerciful clutches of this untold purgatory right alongside you. Even if he’s the only one to remain in the end. 

To be human is to be unthignkably foolish after all. As long as he could still hold onto a wisp of you for the inevitable aeons.  

It’s fine.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[boiohboii]

How would that keep us safe?

(Kimi Raikkonen x pregnant!wife!reader)

Inspo

When a formula 1 driver's car fails on them, they would a. be angry, b. go straight to their engineers, c. stay in the team's motor home.. but not kimi raikkonen, no sir, especially not with his pregnant wife on a yacht on her own.

or

in which Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber and Jenson Button make fun of the infamous ice man for being head over heels for his wife so he just decides to double down.

WARNINGS: not proof read (when do I ever proof read this stuff), no sense of timeline whatsoever, just a small crackhead fic that came to mind. Thank you insta algorithm for the Kimi edits, the man is so fine omg, solid dilf right here people.

Masterlist

"God," yn huffed as she, for an accurate description, waddled alongside her husband, Kimi Raikkonen into the Mclaren garage "if you don't keep it in your pants next time I will chop it off."

"Yes dear." Kimi replied with a smile on his face, hiding his laughter as best as he could to spare himself the lecture that would inevitably make him laugh harder- he can't help it, his wife is much more adorable trying to give him an earful with her puffed cheeks, stomping feet and her belly looking like it's about to pop at any second.

It hadn't even been 30 minutes before yn started to feel the heat getting to her, making her fan herself with the collar of her shirt while glaring at the fan that evidently did nothing to help her out.

"Everything alright dear?"

"No, no!" yn turned to look at her husband "it's so fucking hot i feel like my skin is melting off and your daughter wouldn't stop kicking my bladder so no, nothing is fucking alright!"

While the engineers around gulped, scared for their lives, Kimi bit his lips to avoid smiling at his very cute, frustrated wife. He had gotten used to her snapping at him whenever any little thing annoyed her, he knew it's the least he can do and she always apologises so no harm done really.

"It's okay, here, how about you go watch the race from the yacht? Will that be better?" Kimi whispered as he stood behind his wife with his hands underneath her belly, lifting it up to give his wife some rest.

"Oh my god," yn groaned in relief "I really needed that, I love you."

Staying like that for a few minutes, yn agreed that it would be much better if she watched the race from the yacht in her swimming suit, the atmosphere and the clothing would definitely make it much more comfortable for her. And just as she was about to leave, new company arrived.

"Ohhh, did he piss you off enough to leave him before a race?"

"Damn Kimi, don't make a pregnant woman that mad, especially not your wife."

The voices of Sebastian Vettel and Jenson Button joined the couple, along with the laugh of Mark Webber.

"Oh, shut up." As much as Kimi tells yn that he would rather eat chalk than willingly hang out with these guys, he is indeed fond of them.

"He didn't piss me off," yn pulled her husband down so she could kiss him, smiling upon hearing two of the three newcomers groan and a whistle (of course it's sebastian) "i just feel like I will burst any second so I am going to watch the race from One More Toy"

"What the fuck is one more toy?"

"Oh, it's kimi's yacht."

"Our yacht."

Placing one palm on her belly while his other rests on her cheek, Kimi smiled at his wife "be safe, yes?"

"Yeah, of course."

Giving her a kiss on her forehead, Kimi let go of his wife, watching her head towards his yacht with the help of one of the interns.

"Be safe." Came the mocking voice of Jenson Button

"I'll be so safe." Sebastian continued as they both reincarnated the way Kimi and Yn were standing a few seconds ago; Jenson's hands on Sebastian's stomach and cheek

"I'm going to kill you on this track."

Deciding to join, Mark stood in between Sebastian and Jenson, breaking up their proximity and placing his arms around their shoulders "but how would that keep us safe?"

"An engine failure, yet again from Mclaren."

"It seems like Raikkonen is the one who will retire this race, what a shame."

"Everyone was hoping for him to win this race, he had been phenomenal these past few races giving one stellar performance after the other, truly a waste to see him go this early into the race."

"Well, it looks like Kimi is going to walk to the garage."

"That is insane, it's like a 20 minute walk, no?"

"And we are back, and oh my god, there is Kimi Raikkonen in his yacht, he hasn't got a shirt on, with his wife on his lap, the father to be could not care less in this moment ladies and gentlemen."

"What a legend, the Iceman strikes again everyone, leaving the race to be on a yacht with his family. And oh my god, it seems that the couple are having the time of their lives on their yacht 'one more toy' with snacks all around and their hands all over each other."